When 


Lock 


Stable 


Homer 
Croy 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF 

JAMES   J.   MC    BRIDE 


A  wild  four-footed  creature  dropped  spitting  into  his  lap 


WHEN  TO 
LOCK  THE  STABLE 


By 
HOMER  CROY 


With  Illustratimi  bj 

MONTE   CREWS 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT  1914 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 


PRESS    OF 

BRAUNWORTH    <i    CO. 

BOOKBINDERS    AND    PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN,    N.    Y. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  CLEM  OF  CURRYVILLE 1 

II  A  GREAT  SOCIAL  EVENT 29 

III  QUITE  A  CATCH 40 

IV  SALVATION  NIGHT 54 

V  NOT  EVEN  A  NOTE 77 

VI  THE  SPIRIT  IN  THE  PANTRY 82 

VII  THE  PRODUCTIVE  PEA 98 

VIII  ALL  FLESH  Is  GRASS 115 

IX  SHORTCAKE 135 

X  THE  WORLD  BECKONS 156 

XI  HOME  SWEET  HOME 179 

XII  AN  OBLIGING  CONSTABLE 195 

XIII  GETTING  A  JOB 214 

XIV  THE  THIRD  DEGREE 246 

XV  A  TROUBLED  CONSCIENCE        259 

XVI  BRASSY'S  IDEA 291 

XVII  OUR  FAIR  CITY 310 

XVIII  JUST  LIKE  HIM 329 


712328 


WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 


WHEN  TO 
LOCK  THE  STABLE 

CHAPTER  I 

CLEM   OF   CURRYVILLE 

CLEM  POINTER  walked  to  the  rear  of 
the  fire  department  building,  reached 
behind  the  lid  of  a  tomato  can  nailed  to  the 
side  of  the  shed,  poked  out  the  key  and  danced 
it  proudly  in  his  hand.  The  fire  department 
was  directly  in  the  rear  of  the  White  Front 
Hardware  Store,  canned  goods  a  specialty, 
with  a  full  line  of  stationery  and  also  a  few 
choice  sugar-cured  hams  for  sale. 

Clem  inserted  the  key,  and  the  lock  sprang 
open  in  his  hand  like  something  alive.  He 
laid  off  his  coat  and  looked  around  admir 
ingly,  then  taking  a  piece  of  flannel  he  wiped 
a  splotch  off  the  hand-pump  made  by  the  rain 
i 


2       WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

where  it  had  leaked  through  the  roof.  He 
hummed  at  his  work,  trailing  off  unexpectedly 
now  and  then  into  an  aimless  but  happy 
whistle,  tightening  a  perfectly  secure  bolt,  or 
polishing  with  his  palm  the  shining  brass  top 
of  the  pump.  The  sun,  slipping  down  behind 
the  White  Front,  cut  in  over  his  hair,  just  be 
ginning  to  turn  gray,  threw  into  relief  his 
short  square  face  and  filled  with  light  the 
pleasant  lines  that  ran  into  the  corners  of  his 
eyes. 

A  silhouette  projected  itself  on  the  wall. 
"Why,  hello,  Mr.  Kiggins!"  Clem  Pointer 
greeted  the  proprietor  of  the  White  Front. 
"How's  the  rheum'tism  this  evening?" 

There  was  always  something  the  matter 
with  Mr.  Kiggins.  He  had  lived  in  Curry- 
ville  for  twenty  years  and  no  one  could  re 
member  when  he  wasn't  sick  or  growing 
worse.  Mr.  Kiggins  also  had  a  great  com 
mand  of  words  and  an  ability  for  describing 
his  symptoms  that  was  amazing.  You  could 
not  talk  to  him  five  minutes  without  believing 
that  the  poor  man  would  never  live  through 


CLEM  OF  CURRYVILLE  3 

the  night,  but  somehow  he  always  managed 
to  get  down  to  the  White  Front  on  time  and 
thriftily,  year  after  year,  enlarge  his  stock  of 
canned  goods  and  his  full  line  of  stationery. 

"I'm  the  last  person  in  the  world  to  talk 
about  my  complaints,"  he  began,  "but  I  come 
mighty  near  passing  over  Jordan  last  night. 
It  was  the  rheum'tism  coming  back  in  that 
shoulder  I  wrenched  eleven  years  ago  this  sum 
mer.  It  come  creepin'  on  me  steady-like,  just 
as  if  it  was  weather  rheumatics,  then  it  got  to 
stabbing  me  through  the  shoulder  and  side 
like  as  if  you  took  a  rough  rat-tail  file  and 
jabbed  it  back  and  forth.  Every  time  a  stab 
come  I  would  jump  till  the  whole  bed  was 
shaking  so  I  could  hardly  stick  on  it.  Finally 
I  had  to  get  hold  of  the  headboard  or  I  be 
lieve  to  Jerusalem  it  would  'a'  pitched  me 
clean  off  on  the  floor.  With  one  hand  steady- 
in'  the  head  of  the  bed  I  got  up  and  begun 
walking  up  and  down  the  room  singin'  When 
We  Meet  at  the  River  to  get  my  mind  off  my 
shoulder  when  sunk!  Seven  thousand  rat-tail 
files  began  jabbing  me  and  pulling  the  flesh 


4      WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

out  in  little  strings.  I  give  just  one  yell. 
That  was  all  that  was  needed.  I  ain't  much 
of  a  yeller  as  a  general  rule  but  when  I  really 
got  something  to  yell  about  I  can  do  a  pretty 
good  job  of  it.  I  never  had  more  spirit  for 
yelling  than  I  had  that  night  and  I  put  it  all 
into  one  blast.  My  folks  come  tumblin'  out  as 
if  there  was  something  after  them — Gerillda 
carryin'  a  lamp — but  by  that  time  I  was  cool 
and  collected  and  says,  'Go  back  to  bed — it's 
all  over.  I  come  pretty  near  goin*  that  time 
but  my  life  has  been  spared  and  we'll  all  go  to 
church  to-morrow  morning.' 

"That  won't  happen  again,  though,  for  I 
got  something  that  is  curin'  me  up  good  and 
fast.  You  know  how  near  I  have  been  to  the 
river  in  the  last  twenty  years,  but  I  ain't 
afraid  of  it  any  more.  It's  Doctor  Fordyce !" 

"That  old  fake  down  at  the  New  Palace 
Hotel!" 

"Doctor  Fordyce  ain't  a  fake,"  returned 
Mr.  Kiggins  quickly,  weaving  nervous  fingers 
through  his  ragged  beard.  "He's  from  Kan 
sas  City  and's  just  puttin'  up  here  because  he 


CLEM  OF  CURRYVILLE  5 

likes  the  people.  We  ought  to  be  mighty 
glad  such  a  famous  specialist  would  consent 
to  come  to  this  town.  He  showed  me  what 
the  newspapers  said  and  thej  was  all  his 
friends. 

"I  went  in  just  to  see  what  he  would  say,  as 
I  like  to  ketch  'em  up,  and  he  give  just  one 
look  at  me  and  says  before  I'd  set  down: 
'You're  sufferin'  from  contusion  of  the  pneu- 
mogastric  nerve.  You're  a  sick  man.'  No 
other  doctor'd  ever  told  me  tha — " 

"The  last  pill  pounder  said  it  was  arthritis 
deformans,"  broke  in  Clem,  "and  you  paid  him 
ten  dollars  for  two  bottles  of  pills  and  inside 
of  a  week  you  had  a  relapse." 

Mr.  Kiggins  knotted  his  beard  over  one 
finger  nervously.  "But  he  couldn't  tell  what 
was  the  matter  with  me  just  by  lookin'  at  me 
the  way  Doctor  Fordyce  did.  People  are  driving 
in  in  wagons  for  miles  and  miles  to  see  him. 
His  office  is  full  of  crutches  of  people  that 
have  been  cured  in  other  cities,  and  he  says 
he  wishes  he  didn't  have  to  charge  anything 
for  the  medicine  and  that  he  believes  his  mis- 


6       WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

sion  in  this  world  is  to  relieve  pain  and  suffer 
ing.  He  says  the  demand  for  Doctor  For- 
dyce's  Herb  Specific  is  world  wide  and  growin' 
every  day.  I  seen  with  my  own  eyes  a  letter 
from  Germany  ordering  twelve  dozen  bottles." 

"Was  it  written  in  German?" 

"Yes,  but  he  pointed  out  where  it  said  '12 
doz.'  and  showed  me  the  postmark.  He  says 
he  likes  Curryville  so  well  that  he  would  like 
to  build  a  fine  house  and  live  here,  and  maybe 
if  he  finds  the  right  location  he  will  build  a 
factory  for  manufacturing  Doctor  Fordyce's 
Herb  Specific  that  would  give  employment  to 
hundreds  of  people.  He  says  he  would  like 
the  Bellows  Bottom  to  build  a  factory  on — 
if  he  can  get  enough  land.  Are  you  willing 
to  sell  your  lots,  Clem  ?" 

Clem  scratched  a  rough  spot  on  the  brass 
nozzle  with  a  thick  thumb  nail.  "I  been  holdin' 
them  lots  for  some  little  time  for  a  raise,  on 
account  of  their  location,  but  nothing  ever 
seems  to  come  of  it.  Still,  I  don't  like  that 
man.  He's  got  a  shifty  eye — and  a  shifty  eye 
hain't  good  in  horse  or  human — and  I  heard 


CLEM  OF  CURRYVILLE  7 

him  make  a  remark  about  one  of  our  girls  the 
other  day,  as  she  was  passing  along  the  street, 
that  I  didn't  like.  My  policy  is,  get  acquainted ; 
you  can't  tell  how  new  sorghum's  goin'  to  taste 
till  it's  settled." 

Mr.  Kiggins  turned  to  the  door.  "Well, 
Clem,  I  must  be  goin'.  If  you  ever  need  any 
fixings  for  the  fire  house  don't  forget  the 
White  Front,  big  values  and  low  prices." 

Clem  was  dreaming  of  castles  far  over  the 
horizon  of  things,  a  million  miles  from  Curry- 
ville;  dreams  that  Mr.  Kiggins,  looking  into 
Clem's  plain  face,  would  never  have  guessed 
and  would  never  have  understood.  There  was 
no  one  in  all  Curryville  to  whom  he  could  tell 
his  dreams,  no  one  who  wouldn't  laugh  or  ad 
vise  him  to  take  Doctor  Fordyce's  Herb  Spe 
cific.  When  you  have  no  one  you  can  share 
your  dreams  with  the  bitterness  of  the  world 
bites  to  the  heart. 

Another  silhouette  blackened  the  square  of 
light  on  the  floor :  the  shadow  showed  the 
figure  of  a  boy;  only  the  shadow  could  never 


8      WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

show  the  turned-up  nose,  the  thousand  freckles 
and  the  hair  that  forked  like  a  current  at  the 
ears,  a  wide  tributary  flowing  in  front,  and 
pale  clay-colored  eddies  swirling  behind. 

"Why,  hello,  Rencie.  Ain't  she  some 
wagon  now?  I've  tightened  up  the  pumps  so 
I  think  they'll  throw  better.  Takes  an  eternal 
lot  of  watching  to  keep  'em  up  to  the  scratch." 

"You  know  what  Doctor  Fordyce  wanted 
me  to  do?"  Rencie  bluntly  broke  in  with  a  fine 
disregard  for  the  subject.  "Wanted  me  to 
play  hypnotized  and  let  him  do  fancy  stunts. 
When  he  begun  telling  me  I  had  remarkable 
eyes  and  a  fine  mind  I  smelled  a  rat.  It  makes 
me  mad  for  anybody  to  put  their  hand  on  my 
shoulder  and  call  me  'sonny.'  They  always 
got  something  to  sell.  He  don't  know  I'm 
going  to  be  a  detective." 

Clem  nodded  slowly  and  thoughtfully,  but 
whether  it  was  in  confirmation  of  Rencie's 
ideas  about  Doctor  Fordyce  or  approval  over 
the  last  sentence  it  was  hard  to  tell.  "So  you're 
going  to  be  a  detective,"  said  Clem  at  last. 

"Yes,  I've  decided  sure.     I've  got  a  lot  of 


CLEM  OF  CURRYVILLE  9 

books  I'm  practising  up  now  and  studying  dur 
ing  spare  hours.  Every  time  I  see  a  detective's 
name  in  the  paper  I  cut  it  out  and  save  it,  and 
I  have  the  pictures  of  lots  of  crooks.  My 
favorite's  Kansas  Jimmy.  I  read  in  a  book 
about  how  a  detective  traced  a  man  to  a  house 
and  found  where  he  had  torn  a  letter  all  to 
pieces  and  throwed  it  in  the  fireplace,  so  he 
pieced  it  together  and  caught  the  robber  slick 
as  a  whistle.  Pa  threw  one  away  the  other 
day.  When  I  got  it  pieced  together — had  to 
wet  the  kitchen  table  to  make  the  pieces  stick — 
it  was  about  some  company  wanting  to  give  a 
handsome  clock  with  a  dollar's  worth  of  soap. 
Good  practise,  though ;  you  can  never  tell  when 
a  fellow's  going  to  need  it." 

'That's  right,"  agreed  Clem.  "Our  best 
detectives  begun  early.  I  guess  they  get  good 
pay,  too." 

"As  much  as  the  president,  I  guess.  Do  you 
know  how  detectives  shoot,  Mr.  Pointer?" 

Clem  plowed  a  stubby  finger  into  his  straw 
hair  in  reflection. 

"Can't  say's  I  do,  Rencie." 


io     WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

"Coming  down!" 

Clem's  eyes  opened  in  a  wonderment  that 
Rencie  thoroughly  enjoyed,  and  to  a  request 
for  elucidation  Rencie  took  plenty  of  time,  for 
that  was  a  secret  of  the  craft  that  very  few 
knew. 

"Shoot  that  knot-hole !" 

Clem  brought  down  his  forefinger  at  the 
gap  in  the  wall  and  fired  a  couple  of  shots 
with  his  crooked  thumb. 

"There,  you  brought  it  down  from  above 
the  firing-line.  Quick  as  you  got  it  on  a  direct 
line  you  fired.  If  you  bring  it  up  from  under 
neath  you  don't  get  such  a  good  bead  on  it. 
All  the  best  detectives  shoot  that  way.  I  read 
it  in  a  revolver  advertisement.  Do  you  know 
how  to  take  a  pistol  away  from  a  robber 
when  he  holds  you  up?  Suppose  he  draws  a 
gun  on  you  like  that — what'd  you  do  then  ?" 

Clem's  face  drew  into  wrinkled  thought  for 
a  moment,  while  Rencie  stood  keyed  to  a  high 
pitch  of  excitement. 

"Why,  I  dunno ;  I  guess  I'd  grab  his  hand," 
Clem  hesitated.  "Or  maybe  I'd  trip  him." 


CLEM  OF  CURRYVILLE  n 

"No,"  said  Rencie  with  a  touch  of  scorn  and 
at  the  same  time  with  the  assurance  of  one 
thoroughly  versed  in  his  subject.  "Here,  you 
be  the  robber.  Take  this  gun,"  picking  up  the 
sawed  end  of  a  broom  handle  that  chocked 
the  wheel  of  the  fire  cart,  "and  as  I  come  in  the 
door  flash  it  on  me." 

Rencie  stepped  out  the  door  and  Clem, 
weapon  in  hand,  waited  inside  for  the  luckless 
passer-by.  In  a  moment  Rencie' s  freckled  and 
flushed  face  loomed  in  the  doorway. 

"Halt!  hands  up!"  called  Clem,  carefully 
bringing  down  the  revolver  from  above  the 
firing-line. 

Rencie  advanced  a  quick  step,  threw  up  his 
hand  and  knocked  Clem's  right  arm  high.  The 
revolver  rattled  to  the  floor.  Catching  the  ex 
tended  arm,  Rencie  turned  Clem  on  a  pivot 
and  with  a  half-hitch  of  his  arm  over  his  own 
shoulder  had  the  villain  crying  for  mercy. 

"Oh,  oh!"  cried  the  highwayman,  "I  give 
up.  It's  breaking  my  arm.  This  robber  busi 
ness  hasn't  any  attractions  for  me." 

Rencie  released  him  and  Clem  leaned  against 


12     WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

the  wheel  of  the  fire  cart  in  more  than  pre 
tended  weakness.  "A  detective's  got  to  know 
everything  that  way,"  said  the  young  sleuth 
proudly.  "I  could  break  your  arm  like  a  pipe- 
stem.  Now  supposing  you  were  a  robber  and 
came  slipping  up  behind  me." 

"No,  sir,  I'm  going  to  stick  to  the  fireman 
business.  Feels  like  you'd  pulled  a  string  out 
of  the  back  part  of  my  arm  that  I  never  knowed 
was  there  before." 

Rencie  came  over,  sat  down  on  the  tool-box 
and  fell  into  deep  thought,  the  heel  of  his  hand 
buried  in  his  cheek.  "I'm  goin'  to  specialize  in 
bank  robbers,"  said  Rencie,  slowly  and  thought 
fully.  "They're  the  hardest  to  catch,  and  more 
money  in  it,  too." 

Clem  nodded  in  sympathy.  "My  ambition 
ain't  along  that  line,"  said  Clem  at  last,  baring 
more  of  his  heart  than  he  would  to  any  other 
person  in  all  Curryville,  for  often  a  boy  can 
understand  when  an  older  person  would  only 
laugh.  He  spoke  hesitatingly,  not  as  if  choos 
ing  the  right  word,  but  as  if  such  a  thing 
could  not  be  hurried.  "I  have  always  wanted 


CLEM  OF  CURRYVILLE  13 

to  do  something  big,  be  somebody.  Keep  a 
train  from  being  wrecked;  save  somebody 
from  drowning — something  so  they'd  say  I 
was  a  hero.  All  my  life  I've  wanted  to  but 
I've  had  to  drag  along  in  just  the  same  old 
rut.  No  chance  here  and  I  know  there  ain't, 
but  I  get  a  lot  of  satisfaction  day-dreaming 
about  it.  I  guess  that's  the  reason  I  keep  up 
this  fire  department.  If  I'd  tell  anybody  else 
in  Curryville  but  you  they'd  laugh.  You  can't 
ever  be  anything  when  people  have  knowed  you 
ever  since  you  had  stone  bruises.  .  .  But 
sometime,  somehow,  I'm  going  to  be  a  hero. 
Go  ahead,  Rencie,  and  be  a  detective  and  if  I 
can  ever  help  you  in  any  way  I'll  sure  do  it." 

Rencie  nodded  slowly  and  understandingly. 
Strange  companions  were  these  two;  trusting 
each  other  with  their  secrets  and,  what  is  even 
more  of  a  test  of  the  communion  of  two  souls, 
sharing  their  dreams. 

Rencie  lifted  his  head  and  on  his  cheek  was 
the  imprint  of  his  hand.  He  rose  slowly  to 
his  feet,  and  nodding  a  good  night  to  Clem, 
was  gone. 


i4     WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

Clem  had  locked  the  door  and  was  turning 
away  when  he  hesitated  and  drew  back.  Stroll 
ing  by  was  a  girl  with  the  sweetest  of  faces, 
but  at  the  same  time  a  shadow  of  sadness  some 
where  on  her  features;  it  was  difficult  to  tell 
whether  it  grew  in  her  eyes,  hung  in  the 
corners  of  her  mouth  or  was  in  her  weighted 
step.  She  bowed  and  up  went  Clem's  hand 
and  off  came  his  hat,  clumsily,  but  with  great 
respect.  He  had  met  her  several  times,  but 
she  had  seemed  so  far  above  him  that  he  had 
been  rather  abashed.  She  had  been  in  Curry- 
ville  only  a  few  months  and  had  kept  to  her 
self  much  of  the  time;  so  much,  indeed,  that 
a  mystery  had  grown  up  around  her.  From 
whence  she  had  come  no  one  knew;  and  less 
why. 

"This  is  the  first  time  I  have  seen  our  fire 
house,"  said  Miss  Mary  Mendenhall  sweetly. 

"Would  you  like  to  go  through  it?" 

She  did  not  smile  at  the  idea  of  "going 
through  it,"  though  there  was  only  one  room 
and  everything  could  be  seen  from  the  door. 


CLEM  OF  CURRYVILLE  15 

"Yes." 

After  Clem  had  explained  all  the  mysteries 
of  the  place,  talking  with  the  eager  interest  of 
a  boy,  they  started  down  the  street  toward  the 
house  she  had  rented  and  which  she  was  keep 
ing  up  with  the  aid  of  a  servant.  To  have  a 
servant  in  Curryville  was  enough  to  make  any 
body  talked  about,  let  alone  not  knowing  any 
thing  about  the  person's  past  history.  Before 
he  knew  it  Clem  was  talking  about  himself, 
telling  her  intimate  things,  as  we  often  do  to 
comparative  strangers ;  about  his  hope  of  being 
a  hero  some  day,  somehow.  It  seemed  the  most 
natural  thing  in  the  world  to  be  confiding  in 
her.  Suddenly  he  caught  himself: 

"This  ain't  interesting  to  you.  I  never  told 
anybody  else  half  that  much.  Tell  me  about 
yourself." 

Miss  Mary  Mendenhall  shook  her  head. 
"There  isn't  anything  to  tell.  I  am  alone — and 
trying  to  be  happy.  You  know  what  hard  work 
it  is  trying  to  be  happy  by  yourself." 

"Why  ain't  you  happy,  Miss  Mary?"  asked 


i6    WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

Clem,  coming  a  trifle  nearer  her  edge  of  the 
walk. 

She  drew  away  the  slightest  little  bit.  "I 
don't  know,"  she  sighed.  "Yes,  I  do  know," 
she  said,  correcting  herself  after  her  kind.  "I 
wish  I  could  tell  you — I  wonder  if  I  can  tell 
you."  She  looked  at  him  eagerly,  studying 
his  honest  blue  eyes  with  the  fine  wrinkles 
radiating  from  the  corners.  The  muscles  in 
her  lips  took  life  and  she  was  on  the  point  of 
speaking  when  the  figure  of  a  man  loomed 
ahead  of  them.  At  sight  of  him  her  lips  drew 
into  two  hard  lines  and  she  turned  her  head 
aside  without  speaking. 

The  man  was  tall,  with  the  calm  conquering 
air  of  a  traveling  salesman.  Removing  his 
hat,  he  bowed  sweepingly  and  beamed  elab 
orately.  Had  he  not  had  such  perfect  control 
of  himself  the  beam  would  have  been  a  smirk. 
The  man  was  Doctor  Fordyce. 

"It's  a  pleasure  to  meet  two  people  who  look 
so  happy  on  such  a  hot  evening."  Innocently 
said,  it  contained  something  that  made  the  girl 


CLEM  OF  CURRYVILLE  17 

give  him  a  quick  look  and  bring  down  her  lips 
tight  against  her  teeth. 

"I  have  been  hoping  I  might*  meet  you  again, 
Miss  Mendenhall,"  continued  Doctor  Fordyce. 

The  girl's  lips  moved  as  if  to  say  something, 
but  the  words  did  not  formulate  themselves. 

"If  you  will  pardon  me  I'll  hasten  on,"  said 
Miss  Mendenhall,  and  started  down  the  walk. 
Doctor  Fordyce  moved  to  join  her,  but  Clem 
stepped  in  in  advance  and  walked  with  her  to 
her  door.  When  he  came  back  he  found  Doc 
tor  Fordyce  waiting  for  him.  The  doctor  was 
evidently  trying  to  ingratiate  himself  into 
Clem's  favor. 

"Good  evening  again,  Mr.  Pointer.  Do  you 
know,  Mr.  Pointer,  I  like  your  town  so 
well  that  I  may  settle  down  here  and  become  a 
taxpaying  citizen  like  yourself?  The  more 
I  see  of  Curryville  the  more  I  am  impressed 
with  it — and  its  citizens." 

Tall,  sleek  and  watchful,  there  was  about 
him  a  forced  air  of  gaiety.  He  waited  a 
moment  to  see  what  effect  his  words  had  on 


his  hearer.  He  wore  a  frock  coat  and  in  its 
tail  he  carried  a  silk  handkerchief.  That  alone 
prejudiced  Clem  against  him ;  no  possible  good 
could  come  from  a  man  who  wore  a  coat  to 
his  knees  and  carried  his  handkerchief  in  its 
tail.  When  he  talked  he  crossed  his  arms  over 
his  chest  and  tilted  back  and  forth  on  his  heels, 
swinging  so  far  from  the  perpendicular  that 
one  trembled  for  his  safety  and  had  an  almost 
irresistible  impulse  to  catch  him  by  the  shoul 
ders  and  straighten  him  up  again. 

"Yes,  it's  a  right  smart  town,"  agreed  Clem 
with  true  mid-western  civic  pride.  The  quick 
est  way  to  the  heart  of  a  man  west  of  the 
Mississippi  River  is  to  say  a  good  word  for 
his  town.  The  people  may  quarrel  among 
themselves,  but  when  a  stranger  comes  within 
their  gates  they  are  shoulder  to  shoulder, 
swearing  their  own  city  is  the  rose-bed  of  the 
national  flower  garden.  Doctor  Fordyce  was 
civic  wise. 

"By  the  way,  Mr.  Pointer,  would  you  like 
to  have  a  monkey?  I  have  one  I've  been  ex 
perimenting  with  in  my  research  work  and  you 


CLEM  OF  CURRYVILLE  19 

may  have  it.  It's  a  cute  little  thing.  Come 
on  it  and  see  it."  By  this  time  they  had 
reached  the  New  Palace  Hotel,  where  the  doc 
tor  lived. 

When  he  swung  open  the  door  to  his  room 
a  little  marmoset  ran  behind  the  curtains,  bear 
ing  its  tail  aloft  in  an  outraged  half-circle. 
When  Doctor  Fordyce  reached  for  it  the  queer 
little  thing  brushed  its  face  quickly  as  if  clear 
ing  its  eyes,  ran  up  the  curtain  and  swung  on 
the  pole.  No  sooner  had  Doctor  Fordyce 
mounted  a  chair  than  it  leaped  to  his  shoulder 
and  ran  down  his  back;  he  turned  and  finally 
captured  it  in  a  corner. 

In  a  few  minutes  it  was  quite  content  in 
Clem's  arms.  Clem  took  off  his  gold  spectacles 
and  laid  them  aside  so  that  the  marmoset  would 
not  seize  them.  Clem  did  not  need  glasses, 
but  his  sister,  Hulda,  with  whom  he  lived, 
thought  that  he  ought  to  wear  them,  so  he 
meekly  gave  in. 

As  Clem  stroked  the  monkey's  side  and 
pulled  its  fingers,  his  sunburned  face  lighted 
with  a  fine  smile.  Honesty  and  an  almost 


20    WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

childish  simplicity  showed  in  every  line  of  it. 
"Ain't  you  a  cute  thing?"  he  crooned,  giving 
it  a  poke.  "Land  o'  jumpin',  but  you  got  tail 
to  burn.  Say,  what  makes  you  scratch  so — 
is  it  fleas  or  just  pastime?" 

Doctor  Fordyce  half  sat  in  the  window 
studying  Clem.  His  eyes  winked  fast  and  he 
cleared  his  throat — he  was  preparing  a  ques 
tion.  "Oh,  by  the  way,  Mr.  Pointer,  have 
you  known  Miss  Mendenhall  long?" 

"She  has  not  lived  here  long,"  returned 
Clem  simply.  "Why?" 

"I  just  wondered — that  was  all."  He  low 
ered  his  voice.  "Has  she  ever  said  anything 
about  herself — where  she  came  from  and  those 
things — you  understand  ?" 

His  face  was  expressionless,  even  though 
smiling.  Doctor  Fordyce  chose  his  words 
carefully.  He  was  too  skilled  in  psychology 
to  say  too  much. 

"No,"  answered  Clem.    "Not  a  word." 

With  the  marmoset  buttoned  under  his  coat, 
Clem  went  hurrying  down  the  street,  cut  a 
Corner  and  came  into  his  own  back  yard.  The 


CLEM  OF  CURRYVILLE          21 

kitchen  porch  was  as  methodically  and  careful 
ly  arranged  as  an  office :  the  washing-machine 
with  its  wringer,  the  screws  carefully  loosened 
so  that  the  rubber  cylinders  would  not  meet  and 
flatten  during  the  six  idle  days,  was  backed 
carefully  into  the  corner;  a  broom  stood  on  its 
handle  that  the  straws  might  not  flatten  and 
on  a  nail  in  the  wall,  carefully  protected  from 
the  weather-boarding  by  pale  oilcloth  so  that 
the  drippings  would  not  show,  hung  a  shining 
dishpan.  Not  a  spot  or  a  speck  could  give 
evidence  against  the  mistress  of  this  house. 

Clem  tugged  at  the  white  button  on  the 
screen  door.  Here  and  there  a  damp  spot  still 
splotched  the  freshly  mopped  kitchen  floor 
and  the  odor  of  stove  blacking  still  hung  heavy 
on  the  air. 

"Hulda,  Hulda,"  called  Clem,  "see  what  I've 
got!" 

"Be  careful  of  your  feet,"  came  a  muffled 
voice  from  the  pantry.  "Don't  track  everything 
up.  I  might  know  you'd  be  gettin'  back  just 
as  I  got  all  the  work  finished." 

Clem  paused  in  the  doorway;  on  her  knees, 


22     WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

her  outer  skirt  folded  up  and  caught  around 
her  hips,  a  cake  of  scouring  soap  in  one  hand 
and  a  brush  in  the  other,  Hulda  was  making 
a  mirror  of  the  pantry  floor. 

With  Hulda  cleanliness  was  more  than  next 
to  godliness,  for  who  could  hope  to  be  godly 
without  first  being  cleanly?  A  spot  on  the 
table-cloth  made  her  lose  her  appetite  and  a 
speck  on  her  Sunday  alpaca  made  her  positive 
ly  ill.  Her  proud  boast  was  that  she  was  al 
ways  prepared  for  company ;  it  made  no  differ 
ence  how  unexpectedly  they  came  she  never 
had  to  scurry  over  the  house  shutting  doors, 
tossing  shoes  into  corners  and  pushing  things 
under  the  bed. 

"I  got  a  surprise  for  you,  Hulda,"  keeping 
his  coat  pulled  over  the  marmoset. 

"No,  you  ain't — you're  just  as  late  as  ever. 
There  ain't  a  woman  in  Curryville  that  keeps 
her  house  in  half  as  good  order  as  I  do — 
you  can't  put  your  fingers  on  top  of  a  single 
door  in  this  house  and  find  dust — and  you  ain't 
here  a  minute  more  than  you  have  to  be  to  en 
joy  it.  Just  this  day  Mrs.  Kiggins  said  to  me, 


Company !    A    monkey    company    to   me ! 


CLEM  OF  CURRYVILLE  23 

'Miss  Pointer,  you  are  the  best  housekeeper  I 
ever  see  in  my  life,'  and  what  do  I  get  for  it? 
Nothing.  Three  meals  a  day  and  having  to  do 
the  dishes  myself.  Shut  that  screen  before  the 
house's  full  of  flies.  Stand  on  the  edge  of 
that  zinc  till  the  floor  dries.  Now,  what  you 
got?" 

"A — a  monkey,  Hulda,"  said  Clem  meekly. 

"A  monkey!"  exclaimed  Hulda,  coming  to 
her  feet  with  an  audible  snap  in  her  knees, 
and  bracing  a  hand  on  each  hip.  "A  monkey !" 

"Yes,  Hulda.  I  thought  it  would  be  com 
pany  for  you  while  I  had  to  be  down-town." 

"Company !  A  monkey  company  to  me !  It 
takes  two  monkeys  to  be  company  and,  Clem 
Pointer,  I  ain't  a  monkey.  I  hate  'em.  I 
hate  the  sight  of  'em." 

Clem  mounted  it  on  his  arm ;  the  little  thing 
wiped  its  face  and  turned  its  head  to  one  side 
as  if  cleverly  calculating,  if  it  made  a  dash, 
how  far  its  freedom  might  extend.  Then  sud 
denly  it  reached  behind  its  ear  and  scratched. 

"Take  it  out,  take  the  thing  out,"  wailed 
Hulda.  "They'll  drop  on  the  floor." 


24     WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

Clem  backed  away. 

"Don't  get  into  that  fly-paper,  and  be  care 
ful  of  that  lamp  chimney.  Don't  drop  any  of 
— of  them." 

"That  ain't  what  you  think  it  is,"  pleaded 
Clem.  "That's  just  a  habit.  I  looked  it  over 
carefully  and  it  ain't  got  anything.  It  would 
be  so  amusing  to  have  around  on  rainy  days." 

Hulda's  arm  shot  out  into  a  commanding 
line,  the  finger  straight  at  the  door. 

Clem  edged  through  it  slowly.  Hulda  put 
the  back  of  her  hand  up  to  her  mouth  in  hesita 
tion,  started  to  raise  her  voice,  then  checked 
herself. 

Slowly  an  ellipsis  of  Clem's  face  cut  into  the 
rectangle  of  the  door,  growing  until  it  was 
an  eclipse,  his  nose  pressed  against  the  screen. 

"Well,  put  it  in  the  wood-shed  then,"  said 
Hulda  more  kindly,  and  turned  back  to  her 
brush  and  soap. 

"Much  talk  about  the  camp-meeting  to-day, 
Clem  ?"  asked  Hulda  as  her  brother  came  back, 
her  voice  softer. 

"Yes,  people  are  getting  interested.    It'll  be 


CLEM  OF  CURRYVILLE  25 

a  big  success  this  year.  Can  I  do  anything  to 
help,  Hulda?" 

"Yes,  rub  off  the  checker-board." 

Up  went  Clem's  hand  to  his  nose. 

"There,  that's  better!  You  might  help  set 
the  table  if  you  want  to  right  bad." 

Clem  turned  to  his  duties  with  more  willing 
ness  than  skill  and  soon  the  red  cover  was 
spread,  the  dishes  glistening  on  it. 

"I  guess  we'd  better  fall  to,"  Hulda  said, 
bringing  out  a  plate  of  potato  cakes,  crisp  and 
brown.  They  ate  in  silence  until  Hulda 
reached  down  at  her  side  where  a  pitcher  of 
milk  was  cooling  in  a  pail  of  water,  then  rest 
ing  the  pitcher  on  the  edge  of  the  bucket  until 
the  last  drip  had  splashed,  she  poured  Clem  a 
second  glass,  and  without  lifting  her  eyes 
asked : 

"What  are  you  going  to  call  it?" 

The  way  she  held  on  to  the  last  word  left 
no  room  for  doubt  as  to  what  was  meant. 

"Garibaldi." 

"Why?" 

Clem  bent  over  his  potato  cake  for  a  minute, 


26     WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

then  answered  more  as  if  thinking  aloud  than 
replying  to  a  question: 

"He  was  a  great  man — and — and  a  hero." 

Clem  finished  and  pushed  back  in  his  chair. 
Hulda  interpreted  the  action. 

"Now  you  just  stay  home  to-night  and  be 
company  for  me.  I  guess  they  can  play  check 
ers  down  to  the  Owl  one  night  without  you. 
I  can't  understand  why  you  want  to  leave  a 
spick  and  span  home  and  hang  around  an  old 
filthy  drug  store.  Man  nature  is  beyond  me !" 

Clem  turned  back  and  silently  helped  clear  off 
the  dishes.  He  drew  down  the  window  shades, 
lighted  the  lamp  and  opened  his  paper.  After 
she  had  dried  the  dishes  Hulda  drew  her  chair 
to  the  other  side  of  the  round,  white  marble- 
topped  table,  with  a  yellow  crack  running 
through  it,  and  took  up  her  Bible.  She  turned 
through  it  until  she  came  to  a  book-mark  that 
at  first  looked  like  a  blur  of  red  and  blue  yarn 
but,Jield  right  side  up,  spelled  in  fancy  letters, 
"Love  thy  Neighbor,"  and  began  puzzling  over 
where  she  had  left  off.  With  one  elbow  on  the 
table  she  read  the  Holy  Word,  but  after  a  time 


CLEM  OF  CURRYVILLE          27 

the  Bible  began  sinking  lower  and  lower,  stop 
ping  suddenly  and  coming  abruptly  back  into 
place,  but  each  time  falling  a  little  below  its 
former  mark.  Finally  it  dropped  into  her  lap, 
struggled  once  or  twice  to  rise  and  finally  lay 
there  peacefully,  her  broad  thumb  in  the  fold. 
Across  the  table,  Clem's  head  turned  limply 
sidewise,  the  lines  in  his  neck  drawn  tight,  his 
lips  parting  to  a  low  rhythmic  intake.  The 
paper,  slipping  farther  and  farther  down  his 
lap,  at  last  worked  over  his  knees  and  fluttered 
to  the  floor. 

Suddenly  the  sharp  insistent  ringing  of  a 
bell  broke  over  them. 

Clem  leaped  to  his  feet.  "It's  a  fire,"  he 
exclaimed. 

A  runner  went  clattering  by  on  the  side 
walk. 

Clem  hurried  after  his  hat;  Hulda  opened 
the  front  door  and  stood  in  it  with  the  lamp 
held  high,  lighting  his  way.  "Don't  catch  cold, 
Clem,"  she  warned  as  he  clicked  the  front 
gate,  "and  don't  do  any  heavy  liftin'." 

After  his  footsteps  had  died  away  she  came 


28    WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

back  and  set  the  lamp  over  the  yellow  crack. 
Then  she  got  out  a  pair  of  her  brother's  socks. 
"Like  as  not  he'll  come  back  wet  and'll  want 
to  change,"  she  said,  turning  up  the  lamp  and 
flattening  the  end  of  the  thread  between  her 
teeth. 


CHAPTER  II 

A  GREAT   SOCIAL  EVENT 

AFIRE  in  Curryville  was  a  great  social 
event.  Everybody  went.  You  would 
just  as  soon  think  of  missing  the  free  parade 
on  circus  day,  with  the  clown  who  was  always 
stumbling  over  his  own  feet  and  falling  smack 
down  on  his  face  and  coming  up  and  rubbing 
the  wrong  spot,  as  you  would  of  failing  to  run 
to  a  fire.  Rich  and  poor  fought  the  flames  to 
gether,  working  side  by  side:  Judge  Wood- 
bridge,  who  wore  the  only  genuine  Panama  in 
town,  passing  the  bucket  along  to  Rick  Oody, 
who  made  away  with  all  the  horses  after  they 
were  too  old  and  crippled  to  work.  Give  Rick 
two  dollars  and  with  a  spade  over  one  shoul 
der  and  the  halter  rope  in  his  free  hand  he 
would  lead  the  shambling  old  horse  down  the 
street,  its  hips  sticking  up  under  its  hide  like 
29 


30    WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

two  bed-posts  with  a  quilt  thrown  over  them, 
Down  past  the  ice-house  he  would  lead  him, 
then  out  of  sight  around  Diedrich  Bend.  An 
hour  or  two  later  he  would  come  whistling 
back,  a  line  of  clay  across  the  bottom  of  the 
spade,  heading  straight  toward  Joe's  Place, 
the  halter  swinging  empty  in  his  hand. 

"Where  is  the  fire,  Rencie?"  panted  Clem, 
holding  the  heel  of  his  hand  over  his  heart. 
Rencie  had  turned  in  the  alarm. 

Everybody  turned  in  expectancy  toward 
Rencie.  "I  tell  you  I  did  some  tall  running. 
I  bet  there  ain't  another  boy  in  town'd  been 
here  yet.  I  was  asleep  when  ma  came  running 
into  my  room  and  said  there  was  a  fire,  but  I 
have  myself  trained  so  when  I  wake  up  I  wake 
up  all  over. " 

"But  where  is  it?"  demanded  the  men  in 
chorus. 

"So  I  jumped  into  my  clothes  quicker'n 
lightning  and  came  tearing  down  to  turn  in 
the  alarm." 

Rencie  was  bound  to  get  the  most  out  of  his 
exalted  position. 


A  GREAT  SOCIAL  EVENT        31 

"You  can't  make  the  run  with  us  if  you  don't 
hurry  up." 

"I  guess  I  broke  some  records.  I  got  out 
in  the  middle  of  the  street  part  way." 

Clem  put  his  hand  on  Rencie's  shoulder. 

"In  the  old  Kemp  house,"  said  Rencie  with 
the  last  nibble  at  the  sweets. 

In  a  moment  the  fire  cart  was  in  the  middle 
of  the  street  and  the  men  were  lining  up  on 
the  tongue  and  rope.  Each  fireman  had  to 
take  hold  of  the  pulling  rope  with  his  hands  and 
run  as  best  he  could.  Clem  rang  the  bell  and 
the  Curryville  fire  department  went  swinging 
down  Main  Street. 

The  yard  was  full  of  people  long  before  the 
fire  wagon  arrived.  Rick  Oody  was  half-way 
up  a  ladder  against  the  side  of  the  house  yelling 
directions  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  his  trousers 
hanging  to  one  hip.  "Smash  in  that  window," 
he  called  frantically.  "Get  some  water;  bring 
me  a  rope.  Save  the  furniture.  Why  don't 
you  do  something — if  you  ain't  a-goin'  to  do 
something  let  me  come  down  there !" 

Judge  Woodbridge,  in  his  striped  undershirt 


32     WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

with  his  suspenders  pulled  over  it,  his  bare 
feet  thrust  into  his  shoes,  laces  flying  loose, 
was  puffing  his  way  through  the  crowd,  com 
manding  everybody  to  be  quiet  and  not  get 
excited.  The  judge  was  the  most  excited  per 
son  there,  his  voice  sometimes  rising  high 
and  breaking.  "Now  don't  get  excited.  It 
ain't  a  windy  night;  just  keep  your  heads. 
I've  been  through  the  War  and  seen  worse 
fires  than  this.  Mrs.  Kiggins,  now  don't  you 
begin  crying  and  spluttering  around." 

Mr.  Kiggins  was  saving  things.  Pushing 
open  a  door  he  rushed  in,  a  finger  of  smoke 
twisting  out  after  him.  He  was  gone  a  minute, 
then  appeared  holding  a  glass  case  in  one  hand ; 
in  it  were  two  wax  humming-birds,  one  sitting 
on  a  huneysuckle  twig  and  the  other  hanging 
in  the  air,  its  bill  buried  in  the  heart  of  a 
flower.  In  the  other  hand  he  carried  a  bamboo 
newspaper  rack.  Mr.  Kiggins  burst  through 
the  crowd,  bowling  everybody  over  until  he 
was  free,  then  he  dropped  the  glass  case  with 
a  crash  and  painstakingly  deposited  the  paper 
rack  in  the  shelter  of  a  tree.  Rushing  back  he 


A  GREAT  SOCIAL  EVENT         33 

came  out  with  a  steaming  kettle  of  water  and 
carefully  set  it  out  of  harm's  way. 

Finally  the  firemen  came  up  panting,  whirled 
the  cart  around  and  Clem,  with  the  nozzle  in 
his  hand,  ran  out  the  hose.  A  board  was  jerked 
off  the  platform  around  the  well  and  one  end 
of  the  hose  let  down  into  the  water.  Then 
the  men  began  to  work  the  pumps.  Nobody 
wanted  to  man  the  pumps  but  there  were  al 
ways  plenty  to  play  the  stream. 

Not  until  he  was  almost  in  the  yard  did  it 
flash  over  Clem  whose  house  it  was.  The  old 
Kemp  house  was  the  one  Miss  Mary  Menden- 
hall  had  rented  for  the  summer.  A  fear  that 
he  could  not  name  caught  his  heart.  But  when 
word  came  that  Miss  Mendenhall  with  her 
servant  were  accounted  for  he  turned  to  the 
work  before  him. 

He  ran  up  the  ladder  with  the  hose  wrig 
gling  in  his  arms,  and  thrust  it  through  a 
window. 

"Take  it  cool,  Clem,  take  it  cool,"  urged 
Judge  Woodbridge ;  "don't  try  to  crawl  in  that 
window — you'll  be  killed  sure.  I  saw  worse 


34     WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

fires'n  this  in  the  War.  If  you  feel  tired 
handling  the  hose  I'll  take  it!" 

Clem  did  not  hear,  or  at  least  pay  attention. 

Mr.  Kiggins  came  hurrying  up. 

"You  go  an'  inspect  things,  Clem,"  he  said, 
reaching  for  the  brass  nose.  "I'll  take  the 
nozzle." 

Clem  waved  him  away.  "I  couldn't  trust  it 
to  anybody  else.  You  go  and  help  on  the 
pumps." 

Mr.  Kiggins  fell  back,  but  he  didn't  go  to 
the  pumps.  Disappearing  through  the  door 
he  was  back  in  a  half -second  with  one  hand 
full  of  magazines  and  in  the  other  a  highly 
polished  shell  that  if  you  put  up  to  your  ear 
and  listened  you  could  hear  the  sea  roaring  in. 
Hurling  his  salvage  to  the  ground  he  rushed 
back  to  further  service. 

Rick  Oody  bobbed  up  at  Clem's  side. 
"How's  she  workin'  to-night,  Clem?"  asked 
Rick,  greedily  eying  the  nozzle.  "I  got  time 
to  play  her  a  minute." 

Suddenly  Clara,  the  maid  living  in  the  house. 


In  his  arms  was  a  nightrobed  figure 


A  GREAT  SOCIAL  EVENT         35 

burst  through  the  crowd.  "Where's  Miss 
Mendenhall?"  she  cried.  "This  was  my  night 
off  and  I  just  got  back.  Ain't  anybody  seen 
her?" 

A  hurried  search  was  made;  nobody  had 
seen  her.  Clem  thrust  the  hose  into  Rencie 
Ford's  hands  and  ran  into  the  house.  A 
hushed  expectant  silence  fell  over  the  crowd. 
The  crackling  of  the  flames  on  the  shingles 
and  the  intake  of  the  pump  sounded  for  the 
first  time.  A  minute  dragged  by,  the  smoke 
silently  worming  its  way  out  through  the 
broken  panes. 

Then  Clem  appeared.  In  his  arms  was  a 
night-robed  figure.  He  staggered  across  the 
porch  but  half  a  dozen  hands  caught  him. 

"It's  Miss  Mendenhall,"  cried  Clara. 
"Thank  the  Lord,"  rubbing  out  a  red  patch  of 
fire  in  the  girl's  robe  with  her  bare  hands.  In 
a  moment  the  girl's  head  was  resting  in  Clara's 
lap.  Miss  Mendenhall  opened  her  eyes  and 
Clara  raised  her  own  to  heaven,  her  lips  mov 
ing  silently. 


36    .WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

After  the  first  anxiety  had  subsided,  the 
crowd  flowed  over  to  Clem.  From  lip  to  lip 
flew  words  of  praise. 

Mrs.  Kiggins  helped  Miss  Mendenhall  to 
her  feet.  The  girl  looked  around  dizzily  until 
she  found  a  certain  face  in  the  background. 
"I  want  to  thank  you  from  the  bottom  of  my 
heart,"  she  said  simply.  "You  have  saved  my 
life." 

"It  ain't  anything,"  stammered  Clem,  then 
bit  his  lip  in  realization  that  that  wasn't  the 
right  thing  to  say.  But  he  would  add  some 
thing  that  would  fix  it  up:  "I  hope  you're 
feeling  well." 

Miss  Mendenhall  smiled  faintly.  "Not  just 
exactly  well — but  thankful." 

"You  sure  had  a  close  call,"  put  in  Mrs. 
Kiggins.  "The  other  night  I  had  a  dream 
about  you — you  know,  I'm  psychic — and  I  saw 
all  this  just  as  plain  as  day." 

"It  makes  me  shudder  to  think,"  said  the 
girl  at  the  first  pause,  "to  think  what — what 
if  you  hadn't  come." 

"It  was  sure  lucky.     I  could  have  warned 


37 

you  in  advance,  being  as  I  seen  you  so  plain, 
but — well,  you  come  home  with  me  and  I'll 
tell  you  about  it.  I  wasn't  any  more'n  a 
girl  when  I  discovered  this  gift  and — " 

Mrs.  Kiggins  shut  off  from  sight  the  white 
figure  with  its  flowing  hair,  and  Clem  stood 
looking  after  until  Judge  Woodbridge  came 
up  and  patted  him  on  the  shoulder.  "I  know 
your  knees  must  be  wabbly  so  I'll  help  you 
home." 

"I  don't  think  he  needs  much  help,"  de 
clared  a  voice  at  Judge  Woodbridge's  side. 
There  was  an  insinuation  in  it  that  meant  more 
than  the  mere  words.  "It's  been  my  experience 
that  a  little  smoke  doesn't  hurt  a  healthy  man." 
Clem  turned  quickly;  it  was  Doctor  Fordyce. 

The  judge  stiffened  as  if  to  give  more  em 
phatic  answer  than  speech,  then  deliberately 
turned  his  back  on  the  tall  figure  of  the  doc 
tor,  and  put  his  hand  under  Clem's  elbow  to 
escort  him  down  the  street. 

"Don't  pay  any  attention  to  him,"  whispered 
the  judge.  "You're  a  hero.  Make  a  bow." 

Clem  stiffened  and  nodded  his  head  abrupt- 


ly,  while  a  chorus  of  voices  called  out  words 
of  approval  and  hope  that  he  would  be  feeling 
all  right  by  morning.  Hard  as  Clem  tried  to 
look  humble  he  could  not  help  lifting  his  head 
and  stepping  a  trifle  higher  than  was  needed, 
especially  when  he  had  such  a  substantial  and 
dignified  escort  as  the  corpulent  judge. 

At  the  gate  Judge  Woodbridge  paused  and 
dropped  his  hand  on  Clem's  shoulder.  "There's 
nobody  in  Curryville  I'd  rather  see  this  honor 
come  to  than  you.  Come  into  my  office  to 
morrow,  Clem,  and  make  yourself  at  home." 

Clem  hurried  up  the  path  to  his  porch.  At 
last  his  dreams  had  come  true ;  everything  had 
happened  with  such  a  rush  that  he  scarcely 
realized  it  all.  A  square  of  light  opened  in  the 
wall ;  in  the  middle  was  framed  Hulda's  broad 
figure. 

"Hulda,  I  got  something  great  to  tell  you," 
bubbled  Clem. 

"No,  you  ain't !  Gertie  Knabb  run  in  here  a 
minute  ago  and  told  me  all  about  it.  Seems 
to  me  you  could  find  something  better  to  do 
than  to  go  around  carrying  undressed  women 


A  GREAT  SOCIAL  EVENT         39 

in  your  arms,  and  from  what  I  hear  she  ain't 
the  best  of  reputations  anyway.  You  take  a 
hot  foot-bath  and  a  mustard  plaster  and  go  to 
bed.  I  don't  want  you  sniffin'  around  with  a 
cold  the  rest  of  the  summer." 

Hulda  waved  Clem  toward  a  candy-bucket 
steaming  full  of  hot  water  on  the  linoleum  in 
the  kitchen. 

Before  making  ready  for  the  steaming  pail 
Clem  looked  into  the  wood-shed.  Garibaldi  was 
gone.  Clem  called  softly  but  the  creature  did 
not  answer.  In  his  bare  feet  on  the  rough 
stones  Clem  called  and  called,  but  there  was  no 
response.  When  he  turned  toward  the  house 
Hulda  was  standing  in  the  window,  and  an 
explanation  leaped  into  his  mind.  He  fixed 
his  lips  to  speak,  but  the  words  would  not 
come;  he  quailed  before  his  sister. 

"Good  riddance  of  bad  rubbish,"  she  said, 
and  turned  back  to  her  reading. 


CHAPTER  III 

QUITE  A  CATCH 

44"VTOU  had  a  mighty  close  call  last  night," 
JL  said  Mrs.  Kiggins  the  next  morning, 
coming  into  the  room  that  she  had  given  over 
to  Miss  Mary  Mendenhall.  "I  saw  it  all  in 
a  dream  as  plain  as  I  can  see  my  hand.  I  was 
walking  in  a  big  forest  all  by  myself  when  I 
saw  a  spurt  of  smoke  come  out  of  a  place 
where  a  limb  had  been  sawed  off  and  purty 
soon  the  whole  tree  was  in  smoke.  Then  a 
squirrel  darted  away  with  his  tail  streaming 
out  behind.  Purty  soon  a  cloud  carried  you 
down  and  set  you  up  against  a  tree.  In  my 
psychical  dream  everything  has  to  be  inter 
preted.  The  tree  was  your  house,  and  the 
squirrel  was  Rencie  Ford  running  to  turn  in 
the  alarm  and  of  course  the  cloud  was  Clem 
Pointer." 

40 


QUITE  A  CATCH  41 

"Oh,  I  see,"  sighed  the  girl.  "Mr.  Pointer 
was  very  brave,  wasn't  he  ?" 

"Yes.  But  I  always  say  'What's  the  use  of 
telling  people  about  a  thing  like  that? — it  only 
makes  'em  worry.'  Now,  don't  you  think  so, 
Miss  Mendenhall?" 

"I  suppose  so.  Do  you  think  the  strain  was 
too  much  for  him  ?" 

"No,  he's  strong.  Some  say  I  ought  to  tell 
people  as  soon  as  I  get  a  vision,  but  I  don't 
think  so.  What's  going  to  be  is  going  to  be, 
and  it  can't  be  helped.  You  ought  to  be  thank 
ful  you  got  off  as  lucky  as  you  did." 

The  girl  mused  a  moment.  "I  wouldn't  if 
it  hadn't  been  for  him.  Everybody  seems  to 
like  him." 

"Yes.  One  time  I  foretold  a  sick  spell  that 
Clem  was  going  to  have.  I  saw  him  layin'  in 
a  pile  of  feathers — just  like  it  was  yesterday — 
and  moaning.  Sure  enough  he  got  sick  and 
they  put  him  on  a  feather  bed.  Do  you  think 
I  ought  to  charge  for  my  gift?" 

"You  might  lose  it  then.  Was  it  anything 
serious?" 


42    WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

"Typhoid  and  I  knowed  what  it  was  two 
days  before  the  doctor  did.  We  don't  have 
much  sickness  in  Curryville  now,"  said  Mrs. 
Kiggins,  laying  a  deliberate  trap.  "Oh,  by  the 
way,  how  do  you  like  our  city  ?" 

The  girl  was  looking  out  the  window  as  she 
brushed  her  hair.  "I  find  it  very  pleasant," 
coming  back  to  herself. 

"I  don't  believe  I  remember  where  you  said 
you  was  raised,"  casting  a  sharp  eager  look 
at  her  night's  refugee.  Miss  Mendenhall  was 
a  mystery  to  the  people  of  Curryville,  and  Mrs. 
Kiggins  would  make  the  best  of  this  oppor 
tunity. 

"I  don't  believe  I  ever  said,"  returned  the 
girl  innocently. 

This  did  not  stem  Mrs.  Kiggins'  curiosity. 

"Oh,  I  thought  it  wTas  St.  Louis.  Funny  how 
a  person  gets  an  idea  like  that,"  covered  up 
Mrs.  Kiggins. 

"Isn't  it?" 

Mrs.  Kiggins  drew  the  face  of  the  sterling- 
backed  mirror  across  her  apron.  "There's  water 
in  the  pitcher,  Miss  Mendenhall.  Come  down 


QUITE  A  CATCH  43 

to  breakfast  soon's  you  get  slicked  up."  Mrs. 
Kiggins  turned  in  the  door,  one  hand  on  the 
jam  and  the  other  on  her  hip.  Then  she  fired 
a  random  shot  to  see  if  it  would  give  her  a 
gossip  hold.  "How's  your  work  getting  along 
now?" 

She  knew  that  her  night's  guest  worked  at 
something  over  the  heads  of  the  people  of 
Curryville,  but  what  it  was  she  didn't  know. 
It  had  caused  her  much  uneasiness.  Her  psy 
chic  dreams  stubbornly  refused  to  come  to  the 
aid  of  her  curiosity.  She  did  not  know  that 
her  night's  guest  was  a  writer  of  books,  and 
had  she  known,  it  would  have  meant  little 
to  her. 

"Quite  satisfactorily." 

This  wasn't  very  enlightening. 

"Don't  it  tire  you  out  this  warm  weather?" 

"I  can  work  better  in  summer  than  in  win 
ter." 

"Oh,  I  see."  Mrs.  Kiggins  didn't,  but  that 
covered  up  as  well  as  anything.  "The  soap's 
in  the  box.  Our  water's  so  hard  you'll  have 
to  use  a  lot  of  it." 


44     .WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

"Thanks.  I  shall.  Have  you  any  writing- 
paper?" 

After  Mrs.  Kiggins  had  gone  Mary  Menden- 
hall  sat  down  at  the  writing-table  and  thought 
for  a  long  time.  She  rilled  a  page,  read  it 
and  tore  it  up.  She  couldn't  think  how  she 
wanted  to  say  it,  so  she  addressed  the  envelope 
and  began  again.  The  envelope  was  addressed 
to  Mr.  Clement  Pointer.  Once  more  she  tried 
and  this  time  finished  the  letter.  Then  she 
read  it  over ;  a  letter  seemed  so  cold  and  unap- 
preciative  when  she  could  thank  him  face  to 
face,  and  besides  it  would  give  her  another 
chance  to  see  him  in  person.  It  is  in  just  such 
little  indecisions  as  this  that  trouble  builds  its 
nest. 

"The  toast's  getting  cold."  There  was  a  bit 
of  impatience  in  Mrs.  Kiggins'  voice. 

Mary  tore  the  pages  into  bits,  dropped  them 
into  the  waste-basket  and  went  down-stairs. 

She  had  scarcely  finished  her  toast  when 
Mrs.  Kiggins  came  bustling  into  the  room 
full  of  excitement.  "Doctor  Fordyce  has  come 
to  see  you.  He's  quite  a  ketch  and  I  don't 


QUITE  A  CATCH  45 

blame  you  for  settin'  your  cap  for  him.  They 
say  he's  goin'  to  build  a  big  medicine  factory 
here.  We're  all  mighty  glad  he  come  to  Curry- 
ville." 

Mary  Mendenhall  sank  weakly  back  and 
colored  down  her  pretty  throat.  "Please  tell 
the  doctor  that  I  can't  see  him." 

Mrs.  Kiggins  gasped.  "I  guess  you  didn't 
understand — it's  Doctor  Fordyce — the  new 
doctor." 

"Yes,  I  know.  Tell  him  that  it  is  impossi 
ble  for  me  to  see  him." 

Mrs.  Kiggins  slowly  pivoted  on  her  heels, 
shaking  her  head,  a  movement  more  eloquent 
than  her  words  would  have  been.  In  a  moment 
she  was  back.  "He  says  that  he  must  see  you. 
He  has  a  grand  air  about  him.  I  never  see  a 
man  that  could  carry  himself  the  way  he  does 
and  he  helps  a  lady  up  steps  elegantly." 

"Tell  him  that  I  can  not  see  him." 

Mrs .  Kiggins  looked  dumfounded.  "All 
the  other  girls  would  be  just  crazy  to  have  him 
pay  them  attention,  Miss  Mendenhall." 

Mary  Mendenhall  shook  her  head,  and  Mrs. 


46     WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

Kiggins  slowly  withdrew  only  to  return  again. 
"He  has  an  automobile,  and  he  says  he  just 
must.  He  is  the  gentleman  like  he  might  have 
traveled  abroad." 

The  girl's  face  clouded.  "All  right,  then, 
tell  him  to  come  in." 

In  a  moment  she  stepped  to  the  parlor  door 
and  Doctor  Fordyce  arose  to  meet  her.  Her 
face  was  flushed,  the  color  making  it  even 
more  attractive.  There  was  a  poise  and  swing 
about  her  to  gladden  any  eye. 

"I  must  see  you,"  said  Doctor  Fordyce 
under  his  breath.  "We  will  be  alone,"  waving 
his  hand  to  the  machine  outside. 

"This  is  not  a  very  fitting  time,  just  after  a 
fire  in  which  most  of  my  clothes  were  burned 
up." 

"You  can  wrap  up  and  with  a  veil  you  won't 
need  anything  else." 

She  got  into  the  machine  with  him  and  in 
a  few  minutes  they  were  outside  the  boundaries 
of  Curryville.  Doctor  Fordyce  looked  straight 
ahead  as  if  planning  a  campaign.  "I  thank 
my  stars  every  hour  that  I  have  found  you," 


QUITE  A  CATCH  47 

he  began.  "I  had  given  up  all  hope  when 
chance  brought  me  to  this  town.  I  have  hunted 
everywhere  for  you;  you  have  never  been  out 
of  my  mind  an  hour  since  we  parted.  Parted 
is  rather  a  weak  word — since  you  drove  me 
away.  And  not  content  with  that  you  must 
suddenly  disappear.  But  now  I  have  you  and 
that  is  all  that  matters." 

The  girl  faced  slowly  toward  him,  drawing 
back  slightly,  and  looking  steadily  into  his 
eyes.  "I  thought  you  were  bringing  me  out 
here  to  tell  me  something." 

"I  am — the  greatest  thing  in  the  world — 
love."  A  gallant  sentence,  but  one  that  did 
not  ring  true.  It  was  said  with  too  much 
sureness,  too  much  ease,  too  much  dexterity. 

"Turn  around  and  take  me  straight  back  to 
town." 

Doctor  Fordyce  looked  at  her  in  surprise. 
A  hard  line  ran  along  his  lips  and  the  soft 
pleading  note  left  his  voice.  "Not  until  you 
promise  me  to  make  me  happy." 

"You  know  why  I  want  nothing  to  do  with 
you — why  I  hate  you — why — " 


48     WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

"I  am  going  to  teach  you  to  love  me."  Said 
with  the  same  note  of  calmness  and  sureness. 
Behind  it  could  be  felt  a  will  strong  enough 
to  follow  any  course  that  would  bring  this 
about. 

"I  know  that  one  person  can  make  another 
love  him,"  he  continued,  "and  I  am  going  to 
make  you.  You  may  hate  me  now,  but  when 
you  see  the  depth  and  steadfastness  of  my 
affection  your  heart  will  soften.  Right  is  right 
and  you  must  love  me.  Love  is  such  a  big 
overpowering  thing  that  it  can  not  be  re 
sisted." 

"But  I  won't  love  you — that  is  all.  I  can't 
and  I  won't.  I  tell  you  I  hate  you.  It  makes 
no  difference  what  you  say  or  do,  I  will  not 
love  you." 

He  took  his  eyes  off  the  road  again  and 
turned  them  toward  her.  A  slow  smile  grew 
in  the  corners  of  his  mouth.  In  it  was  con 
fidence,  the  slow  conquering  confidence  of  a 
man  who  would  not  be  put  aside. 

Mary  felt  a  rush  of  fright.  She  was  afraid 
of  the  smile.  She  acted  quickly: 


QUITE  A  CATCH  49 

"I  ask  you  to  take  me  back  to  town." 

"I  will — when  I  have  finished  telling  you 
that  I  love  you.  I  want  to  save  you." 

"Save  me  from  what  ?" 

The  man  did  not  say  anything  for  some 
minutes.  He  looked  at  her  as  if  determining 
something  in  his  mind.  His  lips  parted  to 
speak,  but  closed  without  their  message.  A 
less  close  observer  would  have  said  that  a 
great  struggle  was  going  on  in  his  mind. 

"I  hate  to  tell  you,"  he  said,  biting  his  lips. 
"I  had  hoped  that  I  would  not  have  to.  But 
you  know  how  eager  a  small  town  is  to  talk — 
a  small  jay  town.  No  one  here  knows  any 
thing  about  you ;  you  have  never  told  any  one 
where  you  came  from,  who  your  father  was 
or  anything  about  you  and  naturally  they 
watch  every  move  you  make  with — well,  with 
more  than  eagerness — with  suspicion.  Evi 
dently  you  have  no  means  of  livelihood  and 
you  keep  a  servant,  which  in  a  town  like  this 
simply  kindles  gossip."  He  turned  his  head 
aside.  "Is  that  enough?"  he  asked  when  he 
brought  it  back. 


50     WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

"No,"  she  said  with  less  manner  than  she 
had  shown  before. 

"Well,  people  are  beginning  to  talk  about 
you  and  Pointer.  I  know  it's  outrageous,  and 
I  have  done  everything  I  could  to  smooth  it 
over,  but  you  know  how  it  is  in  a  town  of 
this  size.  You  drop  in  at  his  fire  house  and 
take  long  walks  with  him  and  I  guess  that 
some  of  the  girls  are  jealous  of  you — you 
know,  because  you  are  pretty — and  so  it  goes. 
His  carrying  you  out  of  the  fire  last  night 
hasn't  helped  things.  I  had  hoped  that  I 
wouldn't  have  to  speak  of  this  at  all/'  He 
faced  full  upon  her.  "I  had  hoped  that  a 
statement  of  my  love  would  be  sufficient  and 
that  once  people  knew  we  meant  something  to 
each  other  the  dirty  tongues  would  stop  wag 
ging." 

Mary  Mendenhall  looked  steadily  at  him. 
He  drew  the  car  down  to  a  rhythmical  sing 
ing.  Only  her  intuition  saved  her. 

"Well,  let  them  talk.  I  have  done  nothing 
to  be  ashamed  of  and  I  shall  face  them  out." 

"What  if  they  find  out  your  real  name?" 


QUITE  A  CATCH  51 

"There  is  nobody  to  tell  them  except  your 
self." 

"I  didn't  mean  that.  Whatever  I  have  done 
has  been  to  save  you." 

"I  could  go  to  another  city  but — " 

"I  would  follow  you." 

" — but  I  shall  not.  I  am  going  to  stay  here 
and  fight  it  out." 

"Do  you  love  me  just  the  least  little  bit?" 
leaning  over. 

The  girl  studied  for  a  long  deliberate  min 
ute.  "No." 

The  man  was  just  as  long  in  answering. 
"You  shall." 

"Please  take  me  back  at  once." 

Fordyce  kept  straight  on. 

"Are  you  going  to  take  me  back  to  town?" 

"The  air's  pleasant  and  I  prescribe  it  for 
you."  His  arm  reached  out  and  drew  her  to 
ward  him.  Before  she  realized  it  he  had  kissed 
her. 

She  was  so  angry  that  for  a  moment  she 
scarcely  realized  what  had  happened.  "Let  me 
out!"  she  demanded. 


52     WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

"Desperate  cases  need  desperate  remedies," 
he  laughed. 

"Are  you  going  to  let  me  out?" 

"Don't  be  foolish,  Mary — it's  six  miles  back 
to  town." 

"Are  you  going  to  be  a  gentleman?" 

"I'm  going  to  keep  you  with  me  every  mo 
ment  than  I  can." 

"I  see  you  dodge  the  gentleman  part.  I 
suppose  it  is  pretty  late  to  begin." 

With  that  she  pulled  at  the  catch  on  the 
door,  swung  out  on  the  running  board  and  then 
down.  She  gathered  herself  up  from  her  knees 
and  brushed  the  dust  off  her  scanty  dress. 

He  reversed  the  machine  and  came  up  be 
hind  her.  "Don't  be  foolish.  What  would 
the  people  think  if  they  saw  you  walking  back 
to  town  alone  and  your  clothes  dusty,  and 
when  I  have  been  doing  everything  I  could  to 
stop  the  rumors  about  you !" 

The  girl  climbed  over  the  fence  and  ran  into 
the  field  until  she  could  no  longer  hear  the 
sound  of  his  motor.  Then  Fordyce  threw  in 


QUITE  A  CATCH  '53 

top  speed  and  went  chugging  back  toward 
Curryville. 

An  hour  and  a  half  later  she  came  up  the 
street  and  before  she  knew  it  she  was  almost 
abreast  of  the  cool  shady  house  where  Clem 
Pointer  and  his  sister  lived.  At  sight  of  it  she 
paused.  She  wanted  more  than  anything  else 
to  go  to  Hulda  and  tell  her  how  much  she  ap 
preciated  what  her  brother  had  done  for  her, 
and  to  pour  out  her  thankfulness.  Then  she 
recalled  what  Fordyce  had  said  of  gossip  about 
them.  She  had  told  him  that  she  cared  not 
what  people  said  or  thought,  so  long  as  she 
was  innocent,  but  now  at  the  moment  of  deci 
sion  the  woman  in  her,  trained  by  a  million 
grandmothers,  was  unable  to  fly  in  the  face  of 
convention. 

If  she  had  gone  to  Hulda  and  told  of  her 
gratitude,  and  of  the  statements  and  insinua 
tions  of  Doctor  Fordyce  the  stream  of  Curry- 
ville's  history  would  have  run  in  a  different 
channel. 


CHAPTER  IV 

SALVATION  NIGHT 

FOR  the  first  time  in  years  the  morning 
after  the  fire,  Clem  hated  to  go  down 
town.  Usually  he  hurried  away  on  the  slight 
est  pretext — and  he  was  pretty  good  at  finding 
pretexts.  Hulda's  view  of  his  heroism  had 
taken  all  desire  for  recognition  out  of  him. 
Every  time  she  looked  at  him  he  felt  guilty 
of  something;  he  didn't  know  just  what. 

He  was  in  the  grape  arbor  propping  up  the 
heavily  laden  vines  when  he  heard  a  rustling 
in  the  tree  overhead.  It  was  Garibaldi.  Clem 
gave  a  joyful  cry  and  started  up  after  his  pet, 
but  Garibaldi  loved  freedom  as  much  as  his 
namesake  had  and  swung  to  another  limb  and 
chattered  mockingly  into  Clem's  face.  Clem 
climbed  after  him,  but  Garibaldi  leaped  lightly 
54 


SALVATION  NIGHT  55 

away.  Clem  began  to  coax  with  honeyed  voice 
and  extended  hand,  but  Garibaldi  was  perfect 
ly  satisfied  to  let  well  enough  alone. 

Hulda  came  out  with  a  crock  of  potato  peel 
ings  and  flung  them  over  into  the  chicken  yard. 
"Land  sakes  alive,  Clem!  Whatever  has  got 
into  you  ?  You  didn' t  get  hurt  in  the  head  last 
night,  did  you?" 

Clem  explained  his  gymnastics. 

"You  riskin'  your  neck  for  that  monkey! 
What  if  the  preacher 'd  come  by !  Come  down 
this  minute!" 

Clem  did,  but  not  the  way  his  sister  meant. 
His  hand  had  just  closed  on  Garibaldi  when 
the  limb  on  which  he  stood  gave  way  and  down 
he  pitched,  crumpling  up  where  he  fell. 

Hulda  ran  to  her  brother's  side.  He  groaned 
once  and  became  unconscious.  It  took  some 
thing  like  this  to  make  her  realize  her  affection 
— but  it  does  most  people  for  that  matter. 
She  sped  to  the  neighbors'  for  help.  When 
she  returned  Clem's  eyes  were  open  and  when 
the  doctor  arrived  he  pronounced  it  only  a 
wrenched  shoulder.  The  news  spread  and  by 


56     WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

noon  the  house  was  full  of  sympathetic  vis 
itors. 

As  Clem  sat  in  the  parlor  one  could  but 
admire  his  blue  eyes,  patched  in  as  they  were 
with  a  hundred  wrinkles  from  being  so  much 
in  the  western  sun.  They  were  kindly,  some 
times  dreamy  eyes,  wandering  away  off  over 
the  hills  and  building  new  worlds  of  their  own, 
but  always  coming  back  with  a  friendly  twin 
kle.  Slow  in  speech  was  Clem,  always  willing 
to  be  the  listener,  hesitating  long  before  open 
ing  his  heart  to  a  stranger. 

In  the  kitchen  Hulda  gave  directions  to  her 
assistants.  When  there  was  anything  the  mat 
ter  with  Clem  she  couldn't  say  or  do  enough 
for  him. 

"Clem's  got  a  wonderful  constitution.  I 
never  saw  a  man  with  such  a  constitution. 
The  fall  would  have  killed  any  other  mai  ,  but 
he'll  be  out  to-morrow.  The  salt's  in  the  white 
bowl,  Mrs.  Knabb.  And  not  afraid  of  any 
thing.  That's  the  reason  he  could  rescue  Miss 
Mendenhall  last  night.  I  guess  it'll  be  a  long 
time  before  this  town  sees  anything  braver'n 


The  limb  gave  way  and  down  he  pitched 


SALVATION  NIGHT  57 

that.  You  know,  Mrs.  Ford,  he  hain't  said 
hardly  a  word  about  it  to  me.  I  wanted  him 
to  tell  me  about  it  but  not  a  word  would  he 
say.  Whatever  I  get  I  have  to  find  out  from 
the  neighbors — that's  how  modest  he  is.  Put 
the  skillet  drippings  in  the  tin  can  there,  Mrs. 
Kiggins.  I  always  save  them  and  after  they 
get  too  strong  for  cooking  they  make  fine 
soap." 

On  his  way  back  from  supper  Mr.  Kiggins 
looked  in.  "You  have  a  funny  way  of  amusin' 
yourself,"  he  greeted  Clem.  "A  hero  last 
night  and  a  sick  horse  now.  Bunged  up  your 
shoulder,  did  you?  You  know  rheum'tism  is 
likely  to  set  in  and  go  to  your  heart.  Then 
it's  good-by,  Curryville." 

Mr.  Kiggins  was  never  intended  to  be  a  com 
fort  to  the  sick. 

"Last  night,  after  I  got  home  from  the  fire 
my  rheum'tism  set  in  again.  Got  wet,  you 
know.  Almost  in  the  same  place  your  shoul 
der's  knocked  out.  I  hadn't  any  more'n  hit 
the  feathers  until  it  seemed  to  me  seven  devils 
with  chin  whiskers  grabbed  me  and  begun 


58     WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

pullin'  the  hide  off  my  shoulder  in  strips,  peelin' 
it  off  like  takin'  off  old  wall-paper.  Once  in 
a  while  a  chunk  of  meat'd  stick  on  the  wall 
paper,  the  blood  oozin'  out,  and  they'd  scrape 
it  off  with  a  paddle  and  clean  the  paddle  on 
the  back  of  a  butcher  knife. 

"But  I  ain't  a  man  to  talk  about  my  own 
afflictions.  Have  you  tried  a  mustard  poultice  ? 
I  remember  comin'  to  this  very  house,  before 
you  moved  here,  to  see  Kyle  Fuller  who'd  fell 
down  the  cellar  steps  and  twisted  his  shoulder 
about  like  yours.  He  was  settin'  right  over 
in  that  corner  where  you  are.  He  didn't  think 
it  amounted  to  much  at  first  and  let  it  run 
along.  I  told  him  to  look  out  for  the 
rheum'tism  but  he  didn't  pay  any  attention. 
In  just  nine  days  I  closed  up  the  White  Front 
to  go  to  his  funeral! 

"Miss  Mendenhall  dropped  in  to  the  store 
to-day  and  was  asking  about  you.  Well,  I 
must  run  along,  Clem.  I'm  glad  to  find  you  so 
cheerful  but  you  can't  tell  how  quick  rheum'- 
tism'll  set  in." 

Clem   recovered   rapidly,   but  there   was  a 


SALVATION  NIGHT  59 

wound  inside  that  could  not  be  rebuilt  by  new 
tissues.  Why  didn't  he  receive  some  word  of 
thanks,  or  at  least  an  acknowledgment  from 
Miss  Mendenhall?  Surely  she  could  send  him 
a  note. 

Before  he  knew  it  camp-meeting  week  was 
upon  him.  Each  year  he  dreaded  the  coming 
of  camp-meeting  more  and  more,  and  each  year 
it  was  a  keener  enjoyment  to  Hulda.  Clem 
was  not  an  orthodox  believer  and  it  grated 
on  him  to  have  to  bow  down  in  unbelieving 
worship. 

The  meetings  were  held  in  Turner's  Grove, 
just  far  enough  from  Curryville  to  get  wash 
ing  water  from  the  river  and  near  enough 
to  carry  cooking  water  from  the  town  pump. 
Monday  afternoon  every  believing  family 
moved  out  in  a  tent,  only  running  back  home 
often  enough  to  replenish  the  visible  food  sup 
ply,  sleeping  and  camping  in  the  tent  until 
after  the  rousing,  big  Sunday  night  meeting. 

Bright  and  early  the  wagons  of  the  farmers 
came  rolling  in,  the  father  sitting  in  the  front 
seat,  the  seat  tilting  to  his  side  from  long  use. 


60    WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

Behind  him  sat  his  wife  with  the  baby  in  her 
arms  and  beside  her  the  next  youngest.  Be 
hind  her  sat  the  girls,  their  bright  bows  flutter 
ing,  and  one  boy  sweltering  in  a  heavy  coat 
too  tight  across  the  shoulders  and  too  short 
in  the  sleeves.  In  a  leather  bottomed  chair  sat 
the  grandmother,  a  faded  quilt  over  her  knees 
to  keep  the  dust  off  her  black  alpaca. 

The  families  drew  together  for  their  meals, 
kneeling  around  in  a  circle,  the  men  sitting  in 
groups,  each  trying  to  keep  a  napkin  from 
sliding  off  one  knee,  talking  crops ;  the  women 
putting  the  jam  on  the  biscuits,  elbow  to  elbow, 
discussing  the  sermon.  The  boys,  a  chicken  leg 
in  one  hand  and  a  pear  preserve  in  the  other, 
scuffled  and  giggled,  while  the  little  girls,  with 
their  skirts  carefully  drawn  up,  clustered  to 
gether  sharing  secrets.  The  dinner  was 
brought  in  a  big  basket  with  a  lid  and  handles 
that  folded  together  over  it.  Just  as  certain 
as  dinner-time  came  the  glass  of  elderberry 
jelly  was  certain  to  be  upset.  It  had  a  small 
bottom  and  a  tin  top.  Sticking  out  from  under 
the  cover  were  ears  of  paper  and  just  as  surely 


SALVATION  NIGHT  61 

as  one  of  the  boys  tried  to  open  it,  just  as 
surely  was  he  bound  to  cut  his  ringer  on  the 
tin  cap.  He  would  look  at  it  a  minute,  funny 
little  wrinkles  in  his  chin,  then  as  the  blood 
began  to  ooze  out  he  would  run  to  his  mother 
and  fling  his  arms  around  her  neck.  She  would 
take  the  big  tin  dipper  from  the  cedar  bucket 
that  always  made  the  water  taste  as  though 
it  had  polliwogs  in  it,  pour  a  cupful  over  the 
injured  member  and  bind  it  up. 

It  was  wonderful  what  that  dinner  basket 
could  hold.  You  wouldn't  think  there  was 
enough  in  it  for  one  hungry  man  and  still  a 
family  could  always  ask  in  a  friend  or  two. 
Tucked  down  against  the  side  was  the  salt 
for  the  radishes,  and  on  the  very  bottom, 
bound  together  with  a  thread,  were  the  tooth 
picks. 

Some  time  or  other  during  the  meeting  Rick 
Oody  was  sure  to  come  staggering  down  the 
sidewalk,  lurching  against  the  hitch-racks, 
spreading  his  fingers  out  into  a  stiff  fan  and 
righting  himself  slowly  like  a  ship  in  distress; 
stumbling  over  a  loose  board  and  turning  to 


62     WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

mouth  awful  imprecations  on  it  while  the  boys 
in  their  stiff  dusty  shoes  gathered  about  him 
in  a  speechless  open-mouthed  swarm.  He  would 
reach  into  his  hip  pocket  and  with  his  ringers 
gripped  around  the  flask  gurgle  down  its  red 
contents.  Then  he  would  send  the  bottle  whirl 
ing  over  his  shoulder,  the  lees  slewing  out  until 
the  flask  buried  itself  in  the  grass.  After  he 
had  gone  the  boys  would  gather  around  the 
bottle,  looking  at  it  silently,  walking  around  it 
until  some  bolder  one  touched  it  with  his  toe 
when  they  would  all  draw  back  as  though  it 
was  a  striking  snake. 

Clem  had  watched  it  all  for  years,  and  he 
knew  that  just  as  sure  as  they  had  a  camp- 
meeting,  there  was  certain  to  be  some  old 
man  there  with  chin  beard  and  no  teeth  who 
leaned  forward  on  his  cane  and  chewed.  Clem 
never  knew  what  he  chewed,  but  hour  after 
hour  his  chin  beard  would  bob  up  and  down, 
silently,  unceasingly.  Clem  would  try  to  keep 
his  eye  off  the  chewing  chin  by  fastening  it 
on  the  gilt  topped  Bible  on  the  platform  but 


SALVATION  NIGHT  63 

in  a  few  minutes  it  would  swing  back  to  the 
bobbing  beard. 

Even  on  the  last  night  when  the  Reverend 
Sadnow  was  climbing  to  his  climax,  when  he 
was  stalking  back  and  forth  across  the  plat 
form,  plowing  his  fingers  through  his  long  hair, 
describing  the  terrors  of  the  fire  everlasting, 
with  snakes  coming  up  andsnappingtheir  fangs 
into  you — yes,  you — time  after  time,  and  balls 
of  fire  rolling  up  and  down  you,  parting  and 
becoming  two  every  time  you  tried  to  claw  one 
off,  Clem's  eyes  would  be  drawn  irresistibly 
to  the  old  man  leaning  forward  with  both 
hands  clasped  over  the  top  of  his  cane,  his 
whiskers  silently  falling  and  rising. 

Camp-meeting  week  was  the  joy  of  Hulda's 
life.  In  the  mornings  she  taught  Sunday- 
school  and  passed  books  for  the  singing.  In 
the  evening  she  plead  with  sinners.  She  would 
rise  in  her  seat,  cast  her  eye  back  over  the 
crowd  until  she  saw  some  unsaved  creature 
and  then  bear  down  on  him.  Whenever  she 
arose  there  was  a  sudden  stirring  among  the 


64     WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

sinners  at  the  far  end  of  the  tent  and  often 
hasty  exits. 

When  Salvation  Night  came — the  last  ser 
mon — she  was  so  wrought  up  that  she  was 
ready  to  save  the  whole  world.  As  the  Rev 
erend  SadnoW  leaned  over  and  pounded  the 
Bible,  going  into  a  detailed  description  of  the 
lake  of  fire  and  the  picket  of  fangs,  Hulda 
swung  her  black-bordered  palm  leaf  fan  faster 
and  faster.  When  he  stepped  down  off  the 
platform  and  raised  his  arms  over  his  head 
inviting  sinners  to  come  up  and  save  them 
selves  from  a  sulphurous  eternity,  Hulda  arose 
and  surveyed  the  audience,  seeking  for  a  soul 
without  the  pale. 

Her  eyes  wandered  until  they  fastened  them 
selves  on  a  figure  propped  limply  against  a 
tent  pole.  Lifting  her  skirt  with  the  thumb 
and  forefinger  of  a  black  cotton-gloved  hand, 
she  stepped  over  the  pine  plank  that  supported 
the  seats  and  went  rustling  down  the  aisle. 
Those  on  the  ends  of  the  seats  held  their 
breath  and  huddled  over  till  she  passed,  turn- 


SALVATION  NIGHT  65 

ing  their  faces  with  advertised  relief  as  she 
swept  by  the  danger  zone. 

"Are  you  ready  to  surrender  your  heart, 
Brother  Oody?"  she  asked  in  a  voice  to  be 
heard  over  the  whole  auditorium. 

"Who,  me?"  he  asked  thickly. 

"Yes,  Brother  Oody.  Do  you  want  to  spend 
an  eternity  in  a  lake  of  living  fire?" 

His  eyes  ran  across  the  seats  and  climbed  up 
into  the  face  of  an  old  crony.  If  he  gave  in 
he  would  be  laughed  at ;  he  must  not  be  laughed 
at.  "I  ain't  afraid,"  he  answered  defiantly. 
"I'm  a  reg'lar  muskrat."  His  eyes  leaped  back 
to  the  crony  and  came  away  satisfied. 

Hulda  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm,  her  voice 
rising.  "Rick  Oody,  if  there's  anybody  in  all 
Curryville  that  needs  the  cleansing  power  of 
salvation  it's  you.  Instead  of  me  coming  after 
you,  you  ought  to  be  coming  down  the  aisle 
on  your  knees  praying  for  forgiveness."  She 
gave  his  arm  a  tug  and  Rick  wavered  as  if 
about  to  pitch  forward.  "You're  worse  than 
a  muskrat — you're — " 


66    .WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

Every  eye  in  the  tent  was  fastened  on  the 
two.  The  Reverend  Sadnow  had  slowly  low 
ered  his  arms  and  had  come  part  way  down 
the  aisle  as  if  to  interfere,  and  Judge  Wood- 
bridge  had  half  risen.  Suddenly  Gem  ap 
peared  at  her  side. 

"Come  on  away,  Hulda,"  he  whispered. 
"He's  drunk.  He  don't  know  what  he's  say 
ing." 

Hulda's  body  pivoted  at  her  waist.  "Clem 
Pointer,"  she  began,  the  thin  trembling  thread 
of  her  voice  rising  higher,  "don't  you  interfere 
with  the  work  of  the  Lord.  Just  because  you 
don't  belong  you  needn't  be  trying  to  keep  your 
fellowman  from  being  saved." 

"Amen,  amen,  Sister  Pointer,"  called  out 
the  Reverend  Sadnow. 

"But,  Hulda,  he  ain't  himself—" 

"Go  preach  ye  the  gospel  to  every  living 
creature.  Ain't  he  living?  Go  back  to  your 
seat,  Clem  Pointer.  I  know  what  I'm  doing." 
She  put  her  hand  on  his  shoulder  and  gave  him 
a  shove.  Humbled,  the  eyes  of  the  entire  audi 
ence  on  him,  Clem  hesitated  a  moment,  then 


SALVATION  NIGHT  67 

stumbled  back  to  his  seat.  Every  nerve  in  his 
body  was  throbbing;  he  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  ground.  Only  a  few  days  before  he  had 
thought  himself  a  hero  and  now  he  was  humili 
ated  before  all  Curryville. 

Hulda  gave  Rick's  sleeve  a  tug  and  started 
down  the  aisle,  chanting,  "Salvation's  free,  sal 
vation's  free,  hallelujah." 

Rick  held  back,  his  heels  planted.  "I  don't 
care  what  you're  givin'  away — I  don't  want 
any  of  it" 

Hulda  dropped  his  arm  and  he  went  sprawl 
ing.  She  towered  over  him  as  he  looked  up 
from  his  hands  and  knees.  "You  ain't  fit  to 
live  in  this  town,"  biting  off  the  words  one  at 
a  time.  "And  don't  you  ever  be  coming  around 
my  house  again  for  work."  But  Rick  didn't 
hear ;  he  was  crawling  for  cover  with  Hulda  at 
his  heels.  "Who's  going  to  go  to  your  funeral? 
Did  you  ever  think  of  that?" 

No  greater  stigma  could  hang  over  the 
memory  of  a  person,  according  to  Hulda,  than 
to  go  out  of  the  world  attended  only  by  a 
small  band  of  appreciative  mourners. 


'68  .WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

As  immediate  safety  was  more  to  be  sought 
than  parting  glory,  Rick  darted  outside  with 
fine  disregard  for  a  well-attended  funeral. 

Hulda,  with  her  chm  held  high,  walked 
back  to  her  seat,  raised  her  skirt  between  black 
thumb  and  finger,  and  picked  up  her  mourning 
palm  leaf. 

"Glory  be  to  hallelujah !"  shouted  the  Rever 
end  Sadnow,  slapping  his  hands.  "Everybody 
stand  and  sing  while  the  repentant  sinners  seek 
the  altar." 

As  old  Ninety-Eight,  led  by  Gertie  Knabb, 
rolled  up,  Clem  tried  to  lift  his  foot  over  the 
seat  to  slip  away  from  his  disgrace.  His  sis 
ter  caught  him  by  the  sleeve.  "Stay  here — 
the  preacher's  coming  home  with  us  to-night !" 

Clem  sank  back,  his  hands  slipping  help 
lessly  into  his  lap.  He  always  felt  guilty  when 
Reverend  Sadnow  fastened  his  big  accusing 
eyes  on  him.  Now  to  have  him  brought  home 
and  kept,  he  had  no  idea  how  long,  was  more 
than  he  could  stand.  Clem  raised  his  eyes  and 
shuddered  at  sight  of  the  tall  gaunt  figure. 

The   Reverend    Sadnow   had    high    square 


SALVATION  NIGHT  69 

shoulders;  from  them  hung  yards  of  black 
clerical  cloth.  His  face  was  a  long  mirror  of 
sadness.  The  Reverend  Sadnow  had  a  habit  of 
stuffing  each  hand  up  the  sleeve  of  the  other 
arm  and  standing  apparently  handless,  like  a 
great  crippled  raven.  Clem  could  not  look  at 
him  without  feeling  the  misery  of  the  world 
creeping  over  him. 

The  first  out  of  the  choir  to  welcome  the 
reborn  into  their  new  life  was  Doctor  Fordyce. 
His  words  were  highly  polished  and  patently 
hollow.  Even  as  he  spoke  his  eyes  were  on 
Miss  Mary  Mendenhall. 

After  everybody  had  shaken  hands  with  the 
new  refugees  from  this  world  of  sin  the  meet 
ing  broke  up.  The  lanterns  cast  long  figures 
on  the  grounds,  opening  and  shutting  with  each 
step  like  great  pairs  of  scissors.  One  pair  of 
scissors  that  wabbled  uncertainly,  cutting  the 
night  in  grotesque  patterns,  mumbled,  "I  ain't 
goin'  to  have  any  funeral.  They  can  jes'  take 
me  down  to  the  Bend  and  shovel  in  the  dirt." 

The  camp-meeting  was  over. 

Slowly  Hulda,  Clem  and  the  clergyman  took 


70    WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

their  way  home.  Reverend  Sadnow  hung  one 
loose  leg  over  the  other,  pushed  his  hands  out 
of  sight  and  shoved  down  on  his  spine.  For  an 
hour  he  droned  out  his  beliefs  on  everything 
from  infant  baptism  to  the  burning  bush, 
Hulda  sitting  forward  on  her  chair  absorbing 
every  word ;  then  he  drew  a  long  thin  hand  out 
of  its  black  poke  and  reached  for  the  Bible. 
After  he  had  finished  the  chapter,  Hulda 
glanced  warningly  at  Clem,  and  Clem  slowly 
slid  to  his  knees.  When  the  blanket  blessing 
was  finished  Clem  rose  unsteadily  and  lighted 
the  lamp  for  the  guest  to  use  in  the  spare  bed 
room. 

"I  hope  you'll  excuse  the  appearance  of 
your  room  to-night,  Brother  Sadnow,"  began 
Hulda.  "I've  been  away  all  this  week  of  course 
and  was  so  rushed  last  week  that  I  couldn't 
get  it  fixed  up.  I  know  it  ain't  fit  to  sleep  in, 
but  you'll  just  have  to  excuse  me  this  time." 
This  was  Hulda's  specialty.  The  room  was  at 
spotless  as  new  snow;  to  hear  her  talk  you 
would  think  that  it  was  better  than  sleeping  in 
husks  only  because  there  was  a  pillow,  but 


are  after  me,"  screamed  the  shrunken  face 


SALVATION  NIGHT  71 

in  truth  every  pin  in  the  heart-shaped 
cushion  on  the  bureau  was  stuck  in  the  saw 
dust  exactly  the  same  distance. 

After  the  door  had  closed  on  the  guest, 
Hulda  sat  down  across  the  table  from  Clem. 
She  looked  at  him  sadly  for  several  minutes; 
twice  she  cleared  her  throat;  each  time  Clem 
stiffened.  He  ran  his  finger  up  and  down  the 
yellow  crack  in  the  table  top,  preparing  his 
defense. 

"Clem,"  she  said  at  last,  choosing  her  words 
with  a  deliberation  that  Clem  knew  too  well, 
"I  want  to  have  a  talk  with  you.  You  know 
what  it's  about.  When  I  was  trying  to  do 
something  for  the  Lord  to-night  why  did  you 
act  that  way  before  the  whole  meeting?" 

Clem  parted  his  lips  in  explanation,  but  be 
fore  a  word  could  form,  there  was  a  wild  rat 
tle  of  fingers  against  the  door  and  a  gaunt 
white-robed  figure  burst  into  the  room.  Its 
hair  was  tousled  and  below  the  nightgown  two 
thin  bare  ankles  darted  in  and  out. 

"Robbers  are  after  me,"  screamed  the 
shrunken  face.  "I  heard  them  in  the  room  and 


72     WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

jumped  out  of  bed  and  wrestled  with  one  of 
them,  but  he  got  away.  He  squealed  like  a  pig." 

Although  he  didn't  say  so  one  could  see  that 
the  Reverend  Sadnow  had  had  a  severe  hand- 
to-hand  struggle  with  the  robbers,  and  that  it 
was  only  by  rare  presence  of  mind  that  he  es 
caped.  If  there  had  been  only  one  robber  he 
would  have  captured  him  of  course,  but  with 
the  odds  against  him  he  had  to  give  up.  Even 
though  his  face  seemed  strangely  shriveled  and 
his  voice  tagged  with  a  certain  whistling 
sound,  Hulda  looked  at  him  in  admiration. 

When  Clem  reached  for  the  lamp  there  was 
a  near  danger.  After  all  Clem  was  her  brother. 
"Don't  risk  your  life,"  begged  Hulda,  catch 
ing  Clem  by  the  arm.  "They'd  as  soon  kill 
you  as  to  look  at  you.'" 

She  rushed  to  the  pantry  and  came  back  in  a 
moment  with  a  rusted  revolver.  "Now  be  care 
ful,  Clem.  You  remember  old  Mr.  Shultz,  who 
was  shot  right  on  our  street  one  night  and 
killed." 

A  pace  behind  her  brother  she  came  with 
the  light,  shading  her  eyes  with  her  free  hand. 


SALVATION  NIGHT  73 

Clem  pushed  open  the  door  and  peered  around. 
Draped  over  the  back  of  a  chair  was  the  cler 
ical  black  coat  and  wadded  (up  on  the  seat 
were  the  trousers.  An  overturned  plush  chair 
and  a  stereoscope  knocked  off  the  center  table 
blazed  the  guest's  hasty  exit.  But  there  was 
no  one  in  the  room. 

Something  stirred  on  top  of  the  headboard 
and  all  eyes  swung  toward  it.  There  sat  Gari 
baldi.  In  one  paw  he  clutched  a  set  of  false 
teeth ! 

A  smile  spread  over  Clem's  face,  but  when 
Hulda  saw  the  maker  of  the  mischief  she 
caught  the  little  creature  by  the  neck  and  gave 
it  a  resounding  slap.  It  squealed  pitifully  and 
its  legs  began  to  stiffen.  With  set  lips  she 
marched  to  the  door  and  flung  it  headlong 
into  the  yard.  As  it  struck  the  ground  it  gave 
a  squeak  like  the  response  a  toy  dog  makes 
when  squeezed.  It  did  not  stir  and  Clem's 
heart  sank. 

Slowly  Hulda  sat  down  in  her  chair  in  the 
sitting-room,  propped  her  elbows  on  the  mar 
ble  top  and  faced  Clem.  Long  and  steadily 


74     WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

she  bored  him  through ;  her  lips  parted  slowly, 
like  tearing  wet  paper. 

"Clem,  I  don't  understand  you.  I  have 
prayed  for  you  time  and  time  again  and  set 
you  a  good  example  but  you  don't  seem  to 
improve  any."  Her  hand  went  under  the 
table  and  came  up  with  the  leather  Bible,  worn 
and  frayed  at  the  corners.  Hulda  closed  her 
eyes  and  her  lips  moved.  She  was  asking  for 
higher  guidance  in  finding  a  chapter  that 
would  impress  Clem  with  his  sins.  The  chap 
ter  should  contain  something  that  would  leap 
out  and  bring  wayward  Clem  to  his  knees. 
She  opened  the  book  and  pointed  to  a  chapter. 

"The  Lord  has  selected  this  chapter  and 
may  He  fill  your  heart  with  compunction." 

It  was  Numbers  and  told  of  the  journeys 
of  the  children  of  Israel;  how  they  removed 
from  Mount  Shapher  and  encamped  in  Hara- 
dah;  how  they  removed  from  Haradah  and 
pitched  in  Makheloth;  how  they  removed 
from  Makheloth  and  encamped  at  Tahath, 
following  them  patiently  from  Succoth  into 
the  plains  of  Moab,  stumbling  after  them 


SALVATION  NIGHT  75 

whether  they  encamped  in  easily  pronounced 
Hor  or  pitched  their  tents  in  different  Kehe- 
lathah. 

There  wasn't  very  much  about  the  chapter 
to  leap  out  and  bring  Clem  to  his  wayward 
knees.  He  felt  sorry  for  the  poor  wandering 
Israelites,  but  he  could  not  see  just  why  be 
cause  the  nomadic  children  had  encamped  in 
Makheloth  he  should  be  held  responsible  for 
Garibaldi  getting  Reverend  Sadnow's  teeth  and 
bringing  embarrassment  to  Curryville. 

Hulda's  chin  was  in  her  hands  and  her  eyes 
were  still  boring  into  him.  The  wet  paper 
tore  again: 

"I  hope  you  will  take  this  chapter  to  heart 
and  pray  over  it.  You  stirred  me  up  so  to 
night  that  I  know  I  will  not  be  able  to  sleep. 
How  will  I  look  in  the  morning  when  Brother 
Sadnow  comes  in?  I  want  you  to  go  down 
to  the  drug  store  and  get  me  some  sleeping 
powders.  The  yellow  ones  ain't  such  a  taste. 
Think  of  this  chapter  every  step  of  the  way. 
In  the  morning  Brother  Sadnow  will  pray 
with  you." 


7_6     WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

As  Clem  laced  his  shoes  Hulda's  eyes 
watched  him  sternly;  they  followed  him  to 
his  hat  accusingly. 

The  door  cut  off  the  parallelogram  of  light 
and  Clem  felt  his  way  down  the  steps.  In 
a  choking  whisper  he  called  out:  "Garibaldi! 
Garibaldi!" 

A  cricket  under  a  brick  was  droning  away 
as  if  so  sleepy  that  it  couldn't  keep  it  up  much 
longer;  a  leaf  patted  the  roof;  away  at  the 
other  end  of  town  a  dog  mourned  a  thousand 
lost  ancestors.  Down  toward  the  river  a 
homeward  bound  rig  rolled  over  the  bridge, 
the  sound  coming  up  like  thunder  away  at  the 
other  end  of  the  world. 

But  Garibaldi  did  not  answer. 

Then  Clem  turned  toward  the  river. 


CHAPTER  V 

NOT  EVEN  A   NOTE 

CLEM  kept  in  the  middle  of  the  street 
where  footsteps  were  lightest,  down  past 
the  planing  mill,  and  around  Diedrich  Bend — 
the  same  road  that  Rick  Oody  so  often  fol 
lowed  on  his  grim  journeys.  The  Flemmings' 
dog  charged  him,  plowing  its  feet  into  the 
road  in  order  not  to  bump  against  him. 
"Here,  King — what's  the  matter?  Don't  you 
know  me?"  King  quieted  down  at  the  fa 
miliar  voice  and  in  a  moment  was  licking 
Clem's  hand. 

"Garibaldi's  dead,"  mumbled  Clem.  "Killed! 
He  screeched  like  a  rabbit.  'Don't  you  inter 
fere  with  the  work  of  the  Lord.  You  needn't 
be  tryin'  to  keep  your  fellowman  from  being 
saved.'  No,  he  ain't  going  to  pray  with  me 
in  the  morning." 

77 


£8    WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

He  paused.  He  was  before  the  old  Kemp 
house.  The  carpenters  and  plasterers  had 
done  their  work.  It  was  closed,  and  cold  in 
the  moonlight. 

"Not  even  a  note,"  he  mumbled  bitterly, 
then  hurried  toward  the  river. 

The  Hinkson  sprawled  across  the  landscape, 
twisting  sluggishly  in  and  out  among  the  trees. 
A  flat-bottomed  skiff  tugged  peacefully  at  its 
rope ;  a  fish-pole,  sticking  in  the  mud,  bent  list 
lessly  out  over  the  moving  mirror. 

For  several  minutes  Clem  stood  in  contem 
plation,  when  the  flutter  of  a  restless  night- 
hawk  brought  him  back  to  himself.  Swinging 
over  the  wire  fence,  he  strode  to  a  spot  where 
the  sand  and  loam  mixed  to  an  ashy  gray, 
and  pulled  off  his  coat.  Putting  his  hand  into 
a  pocket  of  the  coat  he  tore  it  open,  then 
ripped  the  collar.  Back  and  forth  he  stepped 
— tramping  up  the  ground.  He  threw  off  his 
hat  and  trampled  it  into  the  earth  with  his 
heel.  He  tugged  at  his  suspender  and  threw 
the  loose  piece  to  one  side.  He  started  back 


NOT  EVEN  A  NOTE  79 

and  at  the  fence  stopped  to  survey  his  work. 
No  one  could  doubt  that  a  final  struggle  had 
taken  place  on  the  silent  bank. 

As  he  was  getting  over  the  fence  his  foot 
slipped  and  down  his  hand  came  on  the  wire. 
A  ragged  gash  lay  white  an  instant,  then  filled 
with  red.  He  mumbled  thick  words  and  was 
on  the  point  of  turning  back  to  the  river  to 
bathe  the  wound  when  he  paused.  Looking 
around  he  gathered  up  a  heavy  stick,  clasped  it 
with  his  bleeding  hand  and  pulling  a  few  hairs 
from  his  head  imbedded  them  with  his  thumb 
nail.  Then  he  flung  the  stick  into  the  woods. 
Stooping  he  held  the  wounded  finger  in  the 
stream  a  moment  and  swung  back  over  the 
fence. 

He  retraced  his  steps  up  the  road  and  when 
King  came  running  out  Clem  met  him  with 
soft  encouraging  words.  "I'm  going  to  have 
a  few  days  of  comfort  in  my  life,"  he  whis 
pered  to  King,  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  talk. 
"I  ain't  ever  had  a  day  to  myself  in  my  life 
— been  bossed  around  since  I  had  pockets. 


8o     WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

The  only  fun  I  ever  have's  when  I'm  alone 
down  at  the  fire  house.  She  didn't  thank  me 
— not  even  a  note!" 

Keeping  to  the  side  of  the  road,  in  the 
grass,  that  his  footprints  might  not  show,  he 
hurried  back  to  town.  One  light  was  flickering 
in  the  Owl  Drug  Store  and  Clem  knew  that  the 
clerk  was  sleeping  peacefully  behind  the  pre 
scription  mirror. 

Clem  crept  around  to  the  rear  of  the  Metho 
dist  church,  of  which  he  was  caretaker,  and 
fitted  his  key  to  the  basement  door.  Pushing 
it  open,  he  went  in  and  drew  a  match  across 
the  seat  of  his  trousers;  shading  it  he  took 
down  an  oil  lamp  from  its  shelf  on  the  wall 
and  touched  the  wick.  In  the  corner  was  a 
high-posted  wooden  bed;  piled  on  the  window 
shelves  were  heaps  of  books  and  stacked  in  the 
corner  rows  of  leaflets  and  Sunday-school  les 
sons,  dusty  and  thumbed. 

There  was  enough  reading  there  to  last  him 
a  month— and  no  doubt  a  lot  of  it  was  about 
heroes. 

Climbing  out  of  his  clothes  he  piled  into 


NOT  EVEN  A  NOTE  81 

bed,  sighing  with  contentment  and  luxury. 
For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  wouldn't  have 
anybody  to  rout  him  out  until  he  felt  good 
and  ready.  Could  there  be  any  greater  pleas 
ure  in  the  world? 

"I  guess  they'll  be  surprised  to-morrow 
when  I  don't  show  up,"  he  said,  nesting  his 
ear  into  a  comfortable  pillow.  It  didn't  occur 
to  him  that  he  himself  might  be  surprised. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  SPIRIT   IN  THE  PANTRY 

WHILE  Clem,  a  few  days  later,  was  lost 
in  the  delicious  depths  of  a  book,  lean 
ing  back  in  laziness  and  luxury,  a  long 
booo — oom  rolled  up  from  the  river.  But  he 
paid  no  attention  to  it. 

With  his  face  to  the  colored  glass  of  the 
window  he  could  hear  numbers  of  people 
hurrying  by,  moving  much  faster  than  the 
average  citizen  in  Curryville  was  accustomed 
to  move.  But  still  he  thought  nothing  of  it. 

When  night  came  he  would  slip  back  to  his 
own  home  and  help  himself  to  provisions.  On 
the  second  of  these  expeditions,  as  he  was 
reaching  in  the  bread-box,  he  heard  a  stir  in 
the  front  room.  He  shrank  back  into  the  cor 
ner  and  pulled  the  tea-towel  rack  before  his 
face. 

"I  tell  you,  Mrs.  Kiggins,  I  know  this  place 
82 


THE  SPIRIT  IN  THE  PANTRY    83 

is  haunted.  I  know  his  spirit's  come  back. 
That  bottle  of  elderberry  wine  Sister  Knabb 
gave  me  last  spring  when  I  had  the  grip 
disappeared  night  before  last  and  you  know 
how  much  Clem  loved  elderberry.  Hss-h — I 
believe  his  spirit's  here  now!  I  can  always 
tell  when  Clem's  around — by  his  tracks." 

"Where  do  you  think  he — it — is?"  asked 
Mrs.  Kiggins,  a  bit  awed. 

"In  the  pantry — that's  where  he'd  natural 
ly  be." 

"I'm  goin'  right  in  there  and  see!"  ex 
claimed  Mrs.  Kiggins  determinedly. 

"Don't  you  do  it,"  cried  Hulda,  seizing 
Mrs.  Kiggins  by  the  arm.  "It  means  death 
to  go  again'  spirits.  Old  Mis'  Rhodes  saw 
her  husband's  spirit  after  he  had  tumbled  down 
that  coal  shaft  and  the  next  week  she  fell  off 
the  back  porch  and  broke  her  arm." 

"You  ain't  sure  there  is  spirits,"  argued 
Mrs.  Kiggins. 

"Yes,  I  am.  Ain't  I  been  missing  bread 
and  jam  and  cake  right  along?  That's  just 
what  Clem's  spirit  would  take!" 


84     WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

"What's  that  creakin'?"  demanded  Mrs. 
Kiggins. 

"I  don't  hear  anything." 

"I  think  it's  breathing,"  insisted  Mrs.  Kig 
gins.  "I'm  going  to — " 

"Hss-h — Mrs.  Kiggins,  spirits  don't  breathe. 
It  tain't  a  good  sign,  an'  that  very  night  a 
big  dog  bayed  under  my  window." 

"I'm  goin'  to  make  sure — 

"Don't  you  dare,  Mrs.  Kiggins.  This  is  my 
house.  I'll  be  the  one  that'll  have  to  suffer. 
If  Clem  loves  me  enough  to  come  back  you 
hain't  goin'  to  scare  him  away." 

Here  the  voices  ceased,  and  Clem,  bending 
almost  double  to  keep  from  making  a  sound, 
slipped  out  and  back  to  the  church.  He  was 
too  nervous  to  go  into  its  black  depths  and 
so  he  wandered  down  the  street.  He  won 
dered  how  the  fire  house  looked,  so  cutting 
across  lots  he  came  up  behind  it.  The  key 
was  in  its  accustomed  place.  When  he  came 
around  in  front  he  stared  in  open-mouthed 
astonishment.  Pasted  on  the  front  door  was 
a  big  placard.  The  head-lines  leaped  out  at 


THE  SPIRIT  IN  THE  PANTRY    85 

him,  and  with  a  match  cupped  in  his  hand 
he  read  the  smaller  print: 

$1,000  REWARD 

FOR    INFORMATION    LEADING    To    THE 
ARREST  AND   CONVICTION 

OF  THE  MURDERER  OF 
CLEMENT  LANGDON  POINTER 
He  is  now  at  large.     Robbery  is  supposed  to 
be  the  motive.     The  deed  was  committed  with 
a  club  on  Flemming's  side  of  the  Hinkson, 
Sunday  night  the  i8th. 

$500  WILL  BE  PAID 

for  the  return  of  Mr.  Pointer's  body  dead  or 
alive.  He  was  5  feet,  10  inches;  black  hair 
with  gray  getting  into  it.  Nose  small  and 
turned  up  a  bit.  Ears  big.  Eyes  blue,  and  he 
had  a  mole  on  the  inside  of  his  left  thumb. 

Miss  HULDA  POINTER, 
Curryville,  Mo.  His  Sister. 

After  his  match  had  flickered  out  he  stood 
several  minutes   in   dull   wonder.      He   could 


86    WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

easily  imagine  how  excited  the  town  must  be 
and  he  understood  now  that  it  had  not  been 
stumps  that  were  being  blasted  but  that  his 
fellow  citizens  had  been  firing  over  the  murky 
depths  of  the  Hinkson  in  the  hope  of  raising 
his  body.  He  would  not  dare  to  go  back  now ; 
he  would  be  ashamed  to  show  his  face  and 
the  thought  of  meeting  Hulda  made  him 
shiver  as  though  in  a  draft.  He  would  have 
to  stock  his  basement  room  well  and  not  stir 
till  the  excitement  had  blown  over.  But  three 
days  more  would  be  Sunday  and  then  he  was 
certain  to  be  discovered. 

He  wandered  down  toward  the  railroad 
station,  turning  his  trouble  over  and  over  in 
his  mind.  A  blaze  of  light  swung  around  a 
curve  and  danced  on  the  side  of  the  little  red 
station;  in  a  moment  the  midnight  passenger 
train  jarred  to  a  standstill.  Only  two  persons 
got  off;  alighting,  they  ran  to  the  baggage 
coach  ahead  and  backed  a  truck  up  alongside 
the  door.  Two  dogs  leashed  together  were 
helped  down.  The  animals  were  long  and  thin 
and  had  big  heads  with  wide  ears  flapping 


THE  SPIRIT  IN  THE  PANTRY    87 

down  until  they  almost  met  under  their  jaws. 
The  faces  were  as  wrinkled  and  weazened  as 
an  old  woman's.  They  tugged  at  their  leashes 
impatiently,  bobbing  their  heads  up  and  down. 

Then  suddenly  it  burst  over  Clem  that  they 
were  bloodhounds  and  that  one  of  the  men 
was  the  sheriff  from  the  county  seat  and  the 
stranger  was  the  animals'  keeper.  They  had 
come  after  him. 

The  conductor's  lantern  cut  two  vertical 
lines;  the  train  groaned  and  in  a  minute  its 
rear  lights  were  winking  around  a  curve. 

The  dogs  tugged  the  men  up  the  street, 
their  heads  tilting  up  and  down  like  the  heads 
of  toy  turtles  mounted  in  a  glass  case  so  that 
the  slightest  jar  would  send  them  bobbing. 

The  agent  threw  the  safety  light  and  turned 
back  to  his  cot. 

Clem  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  platform. 
He  didn't  dare  go  back  and  be  the  laughing 
stock  of  the  whole  town.  And  what  would 
Hulda  say?  What  wouldn't  she  say?  He 
sat  up  with  an  idea:  in  an  hour  a  freight 
would  be  along.  All  his  life  he  had  longed 


88    .WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

to  see  the  world — to  be  out  where  people  were 
doing  things,  where  there  were  heroes — and 
now  was  his  chance.  He  would  take  the 
freight  and  his  chance. 

When  the  cyclop's  eye  of  the  train  swung 
into  sight  Clem  skipped  across  the  track  and 
dropped  behind  the  siding.  The  great  living 
mass  chugged,  roared  and  screamed  to  a  stand 
still;  the  fireman  ran  up  the  ladder  of  the  ten 
der  like  a  monkey  and  swung  the  iron  lip  of 
the  water  tank  around. 

A  lone  figure,  bleared  by  the  shadow  of  a 
box-car,  ran  along  the  track  till  it  came  to  an 
open  door,  rested  its  feet  on  the  brace  rods 
and  swung  into  the  dark  mouth  of  the  car. 

The  train  lurched  forward,  the  gray  outlines 
of  the  stock-yards  flashed  by  and  the  freight 
was  under  way.  Clem  held  his  breath  with 
the  recklessness  of  it,  watching  the  black 
kaleidoscope  unroll  before  him. 

Something  in  the  corner  stirred.  Clem  gave 
a  swift  glance  out  as  if  calculating  the  possi 
bilities,  then  drew  into  the  shadow.  The  ob 
ject  crawled  forward  and  Clem  flattened 


89 


against  the  wall.  He  stared  with  all  his  eyes 
into  the  darkness;  one  moment  it  looked  tall 
and  hairy  and  the  next  as  though  it  was  stick 
ing  close  to  the  floor  and  crawling  up  on  him. 
Even  with  his  back  to  the  wall  and  his  heels 
braced  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  any  moment  he 
might  be  rolled  into  the  arms  of  the  creature. 
Maybe,  after  all,  the  thing  hadn't  seen  him, 
and  he  could  jump  off  at  the  next  stop  and  get 
away.  Then  something  away  up  in  the  middle 
of  his  head  began  to  pull  and  twitch  and  he 
felt  his  ribs  rising.  He  clapped  his  finger  to 
his  upper  lip  and  mashed  it  against  his  teeth 
but  his  ribs  kept  rising.  Then  his  ribs  snapped 
back  into  place  with  a  loud  "kerchoo  I" 

"It's  awfully  dusty  in  here,"  said  a  voice 
out  of  the  darkness.  "It  makes  me  do  that, 
too!" 

Clem  pushed  his  shoulders  against  the  wall 
again,  his  heart  pounding  wildly,  but  made  no 
answer. 

"Which  way  you  goin',  bo?" 

"Down  the  line." 

"Got  aside-kick?" 


90    WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

Clem  hesitated,  his  heart  beating  high  while 
the  car  rattled  and  pitched.  "It  tain't  just 
exactly  clear  what  you're  driving  at." 

"Are  you  traveling  alone?" 

"Yes." 

"Been  havin'  any  trouble  with  the  bulls?" 

"I — I  live  in  the  city — in  Curryville.  I 
guess  you've  heard  of  it.  It's  got  the  finest 
I.  O.  O.  F.  hall  in  this  part  of  the  state." 

"That's  where  they've  got  a  froth  factory 
called  Joe's  Place,  ain't  it?  Worst  booze  in 
the  state — one  drink  and  you'll  fight  your 
grandmother;  two  and  she  can  sew  you  up  in 
a  sheet  and  whale  you  with  a  mop  handle!" 

The  figure  slid  toward  Clem:  "Got  a  glim?" 

"I  guess  I  don't  hear  very  well  with  this 
racket  goin'  on.  I  didn't  ketch  what  you 
said." 

"Got  a  match?" 

"Glad  to  'commodate,"  returned  Clem,  set 
ting  one  elbow  into  the  floor  like  a  brace-pole 
and  burrowing  a  hand  into  his  crumpled-up 
trousers  pocket.  "It's  broke  in  two,  but  I 
guess  it'll  do  business." 


THE  SPIRIT  IN  THE  PANTRY    91 

Their  fingers  fumbled  in  the  dark  and  in  a 
moment  a  spitting  line  of  light  leaped  from  a 
heavy  shoe-sole.  Two  thick  hands  cupped  it 
and  fitted  it  into  the  thick  black  bowl.  The 
flame  dipped  out  of  sight,,  leaped  up  victorious 
ly  and  was  sucked  out  of  sight  again.  Two 
fat  stubbled  cheeks  belched  out  a  funnel  of 
smoke  and  melted  into  the  background.  A 
finger  and  thumb  growing  out  of  the  darkness 
lifted  the  charred  splinter,  which  turned  its 
one  angry  eye  accusingly  around  as  if  to  find 
who  had  blotted  out  its  life,  and  smeared  it 
into  the  floor.  All  was  blackness  again. 

"I  meant  the  brakies.  They're  gettin' 
meaner  and  meaner  on  this  road  and  every 
time  they  catch  a  fellow  he's  got  to  cough 
up  or  they'll  shine  his  block.  There's  one  bull 
on  this  line  I'm  goin'  to  get  and  get  good 
and  hard.  A  pal  of  mine  was  ridin'  the  blind 
when  this  bull  piked  him;  Rudy  coughed  up 
every  cent  he  had  and  just  before  he  got  to  the 
end  of  the  division  the  bull  come  again.  Rudy 
told  him  he'd  passed  over  every  red  he  had. 
With  that  the  brakie  smashed  him  in  the  face 


92     .WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

with  his  lantern,  and  when  he  come  to  his 
knees,  kicked  him  off,  jowls  over  janders,  like 
a  wet  blanket.  I've  got  his  number  and  some 
night  when  we're  goin'  good  there'll  be  a  sick 
ening  thud  and  next  mornin'  some  section 
boss'll  find  a  few  stray  joints  and  a  loose  leg 
scattered  along  the  right  of  way.  There  was 
nuthin'  Rudy  wouldn't  do  for  a  pal.  Once 
when  he  was  lyin'  in  a  sand-house  and  me  sick 
he  climbed  in  the  back  window  of  the  station 
agent's  house,  locked  his  wife  in  the  cellar 
— her  hollerin'  down  brakes — and  snatched  a 
plate  of  soup  for  me  just  because  I  had  fever 
in  the  head.  You'd  loved  Rudy." 

"You  mean  that  a  brakeman  kicked  Mr. 
Rudy  off  when  the  train  was  runnin'  and  killed 
him?" 

"I  guess  that's  the  way  a  language  profes- 
sor'd  put  it." 

"Do — do  they  often  kick  people  off  like 
that?" 

"Every  night." 

Clem  edged  toward  the  corner. 

The   car   roared   and   rattled,   pitched   and 


THE  SPIRIT  IN  THE  PANTRY    93 

plunged  for  half  an  hour  without  a  word  be 
ing  spoken.  Clem  shuddered,  turning  over  in 
his  mind  what  would  happen  if  one  of  the 
train  crew  came  upon  them.  He  couldn't  go 
back  to  Curryville  with  those  sad-eyed  dogs 
there  and  face  Hulda  and  everybody  to  laugh 
at  him.  In  the  car  with  his  thick-shouldered 
companion  was  like  being  in  a  dark  room  with 
an  unknown  animal. 

"Been  on  the  road  long?"  boomed  a  voice 
out  of  the  blackness. 

"No!" 

"I  thought  you  hadn't  the  way  you  got  in 
with  your  elbows.  What's  your  line?" 

"I  don't  follow  you." 

"How  do  you  get  the  kale?" 

Clem  studied  for  a  minute.  "Are  you  an 
American?" 

The  man  in  the  darkness  laughed,  his  voice 
climbing  over  the  rattle  of  the  trucks.  "You're 
all  right,  bo.  I  mean  how  do  you  get  your 
cash?" 

Clem  nervously  drew  up  his  hand  to  his 
wallet.  Plainly  the  stranger  was  trying  to 


94    WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

find  if  he' had  any.  "I  just  joined  the  road 
to-night." 

"You  mean  that  when  you  crawled  up  in 
this  car  like  a  sick  cow  that  it  was  your  first 
time  out?" 

"Yes." 

"Been  hitting  the  dirt?"  asked  the  other 
quickly,  in  amazement. 

"You've  got  the  best  of  me,  stranger." 

"I  mean,  have  you  been  goin'  the  country 
roads?" 

"No,  I  just  got  on  to-night." 

The  other  blew  through  his  nostrils  in  won 
der  and  the  very  whistle  of  it  asked  what  in 
the  world  could  a  person  be  doing  all  his  life 
if  he  hadn't  been  traveling  either  by  railroad 
or  across  the  country?  Suddenly  he  turned 
on  Clem  as  if  the  whole  explanation  had  just 
dawned  on  him.  "You  ain't  cracked  anything, 
have  you?"  he  asked  anxiously. 

"I  guess  I'm  purty  dumb,  but  about  half  of 
your  words  don't  seem  to  be  where  they  be 
long." 


THE  SPIRIT  IN  THE  PANTRY    95 

"I  mean,  you  ain't  in  the  soap  and  blanket 
business,  are  you?" 

"No,  I'm  chief  of  the  fire  department," 
Clem  explained  with  pardonable  pride. 

The  man  in  the  dark  sighed  as  though  a 
great  weight  had  been  taken  off  his  mind  and 
added  as  if  to  himself:  "You  ain't  ever  cracked 
a  bank  or  you'd  get  me.  Say,  pardner,  why 
don't  you  go  home?  There  ain't  anything  in 
railroadin'." 

"I  couldn't  do  that,"  exclaimed  Clem  quick 
ly.  "I  ain't  got  any  home  any  more." 

"You  ain't  got  any  home  and  ain't  goin' 
anywhere,"  the  other  took  up.  "Well,  then, 
you  just  fall  in  with  me.  My  name's  Hagan — 
Mr.  Brassy  Hagan — but  I've  almost  forgot  the 
last  part  myself.  I'm  in  the  circus  business." 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Clem  with  delight.  "You 
don't  happen  to  be  an  animal  trainer,  do  you? 
— I  can't  see  your  clothes!" 

"No,  that  ain't  my  department.  I'm  not 
under  the  big  top.  I  do  missionary  work 
among  the  hey-rubes.  I  was  a  schilliber — 


96     WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

stake  and  chain  wagon — for  a  while,  but  tap- 
pin'  stakes  ain't  no  occupation  for  a  gentleman 
so  I  cut  out  to  where  the  big  money  was.  I'm 
in  the  optical  business — handling  the  elusive 
pea,  proving  that  the  hand  is  quicker  than  the 
eye.  My  great  call  in  life  is  to  prove  to  the 
tall  grass  gents  that  they  can't  believe  all  they 
see,  by  shifting  a  well-trained  pea  from  one 
English  walnut  to  another  and  chargin'  them 
for  it." 

"I  don't  know's  I  ever  met  anybody  with 
that  occupation  before,"  returned  Clem. 

Brassy  laughed. 

"I've  got  a  good  thriving  business.  This 
last  town,  I  was  in  the  midst  of  my  lesson 
proving  that  the  hand  is  quicker  than  the  eye 
when  a  gentleman  come  up  and  took  treat 
ment.  After  he  had  found  that  his  eye  had 
deceived  him  he  pulled  back  his  coat  and  there 
on  his  suspender  was  a  silver  plate  with  en- 
gravin'  on  it  and  he  insisted  that  your  pro 
fessor  come  down  and  be  the  guest  of  the  city. 
I  couldn't  excuse  myself  and  make  a  duck 
until  the  rest  of  the  circus  was  gone  six  hours. 


THE  SPIRIT  IN  THE  PANTRY    97 

You  ought  to  be  a  good  capper;  I  tell  you 
what  I'll  do — I'll  take  you  into  partnership. 
How'd  you  like  that?" 

"Then  I'd  be  a  member  of  the  circus  com 
pany?"  asked  Clem  eagerly. 

"Sure — just  as  much  as  I  am." 

"I'll  do  it,"  cried  Clem,  edging  over  toward 
Brassy.  "I've  allus  wanted  to  travel  with  a 
circus.  It'll  be  a  great  education  to  me." 

"It  sure  will,"  agreed  Brassy,  without  ex 
plaining  just  what  he  meant. 

A  long  lonesome  whistle  rolled  out  and  the 
train  began  to  slacken. 

"We  pile  off  here,"  said  Brassy.  "The  cir 
cus  train'll  still  be  loadin'  but  we  can  slip 
into  the  sleepin'-car  without  anybody  gettin' 
wise  and  hit  the  hay  for  a  spell." 

The  car  pitched  forward  and  sullenly  set 
tled  back  like  a  live  thing.  Brassy  leaped  out 
on  the  opposite  side  from  the  station  and  mo 
tioned  Clem  to  follow. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  PRODUCTIVE  PEA 

THE  sleeping-car  of  the  circus  was  on  a 
siding  when  Brassy  led  Clem  up  and 
waved  him  in.  An  oil  lamp  with  a  smoky 
reflector  behind  it  was  clinging  to  the  wall, 
while  on  each  side  of  the  aisle  were  rows  and 
rows  of  cots,  one  above  the  other,  like  great 
pie  shelves. 

Brassy  went  down  the  aisle  slapping  the 
curtains.  "Here's  an  empty  one,"  he  called. 
"Pile  in — you'll  know  when  to  get  up  all 
right!" 

Turning  aside,  Brassy  worked  a  moment  at 
his  collar,  leaned  over  and  tugged  his  shirt 
off  over  his  head  and  was  soon  out  of  sight. 

Up  and  down  the  car  rose  gurgles  and 
groans,  spurting  up  and  dying  away,  like 
sound  geysers.  Shirts,  dirty  and  rumpled, 
98 


THE  PRODUCTIVE  PEA  99 

drooped  dejectedly  on  hooks.  Fastening  one 
tired  knee  over  the  other  Clem  unlaced  his 
shoes  and  climbed  on  to  one  of  the  shelves. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  his  ear  had  scarcely 
flattened  on  the  pillow  before  there  was  a 
wreck,  or  at  least  a  storm  at  sea.  A  wild 
hammering  filled  the  car  as  if  some  destructive 
soul  was  trying  to  pull  it  to  pieces  before  its 
occupants  could  possibly  scramble  into  their 
clothes.  Clem  thrust  his  head  out  and  saw 
one  of  the  helpers  pounding  with  a  heavy 
stick  a  sheet  of  iron  fastened  to  the  wall.  Then 
he  understood  that  it  was  the  call  to  breakfast. 

Clem  tumbled  into  his  clothes  in  a  minute 
and  was  outside  before  another  head  had  ap 
peared.  Slowly  the  men  came  out,  pulling 
themselves  into  their  jumpers  and  plowing 
their  knuckles  into  their  eyes. 

The  train  was  on  a  spur  waiting  to  be  un 
loaded.  Clem  walked  its  full  length.  Every 
where  was  the  peculiar  smell  of  the  circus. 
Some  of  the  animals  were  contentedly  chew 
ing  their  food  while  others  tramped  restlessly 
back  and  forth. 


ioo  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

Already  boys  and  men  were  gathering  to  see 
the  unloading,  much  brighter-eyed  than  the 
grumbling  circus  helpers.  The  heavier  animals 
had  been  taken  off  and  the  schillibers  were 
unloading  the  lighter  ones  when  Brassy  ap 
peared,  a  cap  pulled  over  his  eyes  and  his 
cheeks  raggeder  than  ever. 

"Mornin',"  he  greeted  shortly,  and  jerked 
his  head  for  Clem  to  follow. 

Brassy  tramped  down  the  line  of  cars  in 
silence,  drawing  up  before  the  supply  car 
where  three  or  four  sleepy  hands  were  list 
lessly  tugging  at  rolls  of  canvas.  Brassy  laid 
hold  and  motioned  Clem  to  a  corner.  The 
canvas  and  stakes  were  thrown  on  to  truck 
wagons  and  carted  to  the  show  grounds. 

"Better  stick  pretty  clost  to  me  till  I  speak 
to  'the  colonel,'  "  said  Brassy  briefly. 

When  the  stakes  were  laid  out  for  the  din 
ing  tent,  the  boss  of  the  chain  and  stake  gang 
eyed  Clem  suspiciously,  then  asked,  "Want  to 
try  your  hand  at  the  sledge?" 

Clem  willingly  picked  up  the  sledge  and 
taking  turn  about  with  a  driver  soon  drove 


THE  PRODUCTIVE  PEA         101 

the  stake  to  the  notch.  The  boss  nodded  with 
approval. 

After  the  tent  was  up  cross-pieces  were 
driven  and  the  table  made.  It  was  not  until 
late  that  breakfast  was  ready,  the  men  climb 
ing  over  the  seats  and  dropping  down  on  the 
table  with  their  elbows.  Brassy  drew  Clem 
in  beside  him  and  the  two  ate  in  silence.  In 
the  light  of  day  Brassy  looked  much  older 
than  Clem  had  first  thought  him  to  be. 

When  they  were  getting  ready  for  the 
grand,  glittering  and  gorgeous  free  street  pa 
rade — quoting  from  a  poster — Clem  couldn't 
help  noticing  that  the  grandness  was  getting 
pretty  shabby  and  that  El  Shiek — the  widely 
heralded  king  of  camels — was  decidedly  moth 
eaten  in  places  and  had  bad  twinges  of  rheu 
matism.  Leo,  also  a  royal  ruler  in  his  realm, 
was  much  more  peaceably  inclined  than  he  had 
been  when  the  artist  painted  his  portrait  on  the 
outside  of  the  wagon  showing  him  standing  on 
a  knoll,  one  foot  slightly  raised  and  a  forbid 
ding  snarl  on  his  tightly  curled  lips.  To  see 
Rose,  queen  among  pachyderms,  obediently 


102  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

pushing  heavy  wagons  about,  a  tired  expres 
sion  around  her  eyes,  made  one  wish  that  they 
wouldn't  have  a  grand,  glittering  and  gor 
geous  parade  this  morning,  but  instead  would 
give  the  animals  a  half  holiday. 

The  band  struck  up  and  the  wagons  began 
to  fall  in  line.  Clem  started  toward  the  source 
of  the  music  but  bumped  into  a  stout  man. 
The  individual  was  dressed  in  a  long  frock 
coat  and  peeping  out  from  inside  as  though 
ashamed  of  itself  was  a  flaming  red  waistcoat, 
while  a  black  string  tie  fluttered  its  ends  in  the 
breeze  as  if  to  attract  the  eye  away  from  the 
apoplexy  of  the  waistcoat.  Under  the  wide 
sombrero  and  in  spite  of  the  shaven  cheeks 
Clem  at  last  recognized  his  partner  of  the 
freight  car. 

"Puttin'  on  the  furniture  for  company,"  re 
turned  Brassy  to  Clem's  puzzled  look.  "This 
is  our  busy  day.  I've  spoke  to  'the  colonel' 
and  fixed  everything  up.  The  pickin's  ought 
to  be  good  to-day." 

It  was  not  just  exactly  clear  to  Clem  who 
that  mysterious  individual  was  whom  Brassy 


THE  PRODUCTIVE  PEA         103 

referred  to  so  familiarly  with  his  martial  title, 
nor  did  he  know  just  what  the  pickings  were, 
but  his  satisfaction  at  being  a  member  of  a 
circus  troupe  kept  the  whetstone  off  his  curi 
osity. 

"Yes,"  agreed  Clem,  "they  ought.  I  don't 
know  as  I  ever  saw  a  finer  day  for  'em." 

One  of  the  animal  trainers  in  his  spangles, 
rushing  by  to  catch  up  with  the  parade,  called 
out  to  Brassy:  "It's  kind  of  late  for  straw 
berry  shortcake,  ain't  it?" 

Brassy,  with  his  thumbs  stuffed  tightly  in 
under  his  belt  as  if  he  could  never  get  them 
out,  waved  his  elbow  and  smiled. 

"What  does  he  mean?"  asked  Clem. 

"Oh,  that's  just  some  of  their  talk.  When 
this  parade  gets  back  we'll  go  to  work." 

"I  guess  I'm  pretty  slow,  but  what  am  I  to 
do,  Mr.  Hagan?" 

This  was  just  the  chance  for  Brassy.  He 
lived  and  flourished  on  words.  He  could 
juggle  them  about  with  the  ease  and  deftness 
of  a  Japanese  acrobat  handling  a  barrel  with 
his  feet. 


104  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

"After  a  lot  of  trouble  and  schemin'  I  have 
at  last  succeeded  in  having  you  made  my  first 
understudy.  I  didn't  know  whether  I  was  go 
ing  to  be  able  to  put  it  over  at  first,  but  at  last 
I  brought  'the  colonel'  around  to  my  way  of 
thinking  and  I  am  happy  to  tell  you  that  you 
are  now  a  qualified  member  of  this  famous 
circus  troupe — chief  assistant  to  Professor  Ha- 
gan,  Ophthalmologist  and  Manipulator  of  the 
Moving  Shells.  I  am  carried  along  by  this 
educational  organization  to  enlighten  the 
minds  of  the  great  mass  of  people  who 
have  more  sinkers  than  sense  and  who  do  not 
believe  that  the  movements  of  the  hand  are 
quicker  than  the  images  thrown  on  the  retina 
of  our  organ  of  sight.  To  prove  this  I  as 
semble  three  shells  of  the  English  walnut  va 
riety,  place  under  one  of  them  a  single  ma 
tured  specimen  of  one  of  our  commonest  gar 
den  products — the  homely  pea — shift  the  shells 
rapidly  with  first  one  hand  and  then  the  other 
and  call  upon  the  spectators  to  point  out  which 
one  of  the  three  shells  shelters  the  productive 


THE  PRODUCTIVE  PEA         105 

pellet.  After  they  have  declared  their  certainty 
as  to  which  houses  the  product  of  the  pod,  I  ask 
them  to  back  their  judgment  by  something 
that  goes  over  the  counter,  and  after  they  have 
complied  I  raise  the  shell.  Rarely — and  after 
due  reflection  I  might  say  never — does  the 
shell  designated  by  them  cover  the  object  of 
the  search.  To  teach  them  humility,  respect 
for  the  judgment  of  others  and  a  lesson  not 
to  make  the  same  mistake  when  the  next  cir 
cus  conies  to  town,  I  take  the  long  green  and 
wish  them  a  Merry  Christmas  and  a  Happy 
New  Year." 

Clem  blinked  hazily  for  a  moment.  "Then 
the  man  at  the  door  takes  the  tickets,  does  he  ?" 

Brassy  laughed.  "Yes.  Everybody  takes 
all  they  can  get.  As  soon  as  the  parade's  over 
we'll  stoke  up." 

In  a  few  minutes  the  tra-boom,  tra-boom  of 
the  drum,  sounding  like  thunder  over  on  the 
other  side  of  the  river,  came  rolling  in  and 
as  the  head  of  the  line  swung  into  the  grounds 
the  gilded  wagon  boomed  out  a  final  swing- 


io6  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

ing  selection.  A  great  crowd  of  boys  and 
men — boys  first  and  seasoning  off  with  men — 
flooded  in  on  the  heels  of  the  parade. 

The  clown  in  his  cart  was  the  favorite. 
When  he  reached  over  and  scratched  the  don 
key  with  his  umbrella  and  called  out,  "Whoa, 
love!"  and  it  kicked  up  right  in  his  face  the 
boys  yelled  with  glee  and  took  it  up:  "Whoa, 
love!  Whoa,  love!" 

The  clown  waved  a  friendly  hand  to  Clem 
and  disappeared  into  the  dressing  tent. 

Brassy  came  up  with  a  handful  of  bills. 
"When  I  get  the  game  goin'  you  come  up  and 
unwind  your  pocketbook  and  put  down  a  five. 
You  win,  wrap  her  up  and  blow  on.  Take 
this  five  and  after  a  while  when  you  get  a 
wad  and  the  crowd  breaks  you  can  slip  'em 
back." 

Clem  held  the  bill  by  the  corner,  as  though 
it  was  a  lizard  by  the  tail.  His  lips  parted 
and  his  breath  went  in.  "I — I — you  mean — " 

"Shortcake  so  early?"  sang  out  one  of  the 
circus  men,  hurrying  by. 

The  flood  of  men  and  boys,  with  here  and 


THE  PRODUCTIVE  PEA         107 

there  a  white  dress  flecking  the  current,  rolled 
on,  swirling  around  the  ticket  wagons  and 
eddying  around  the  side-shows :  the  older  men 
with  their  shirts  open  at  the  neck,  heavy  brass 
buttons  swaying  on  their  collars,  and  the 
young  men  tortured  under  high  celluloids. 

In  a  bayou  of  boys  Brassy  appeared  with  a 
folding  table.  Pulling  up  his  sleeves  and 
pushing  back  his  sombrero,  with  bills  weaving 
through  his  fingers,  he  began: 

"Everybody  likes  a  little  innocent  fun  and 
amusement.  It  quickens  the  pulse,  it  stimu 
lates  the  mind.  No  two  pairs  of  eyes  in  the 
world  are  alike:  your  eyes  are  different  from 
mine  and  both  are  unlike  those  of  this  here 
gentleman.  Science  has  never  explained  this 
fact,  but  fact  it  is.  Some  eyes  see  fast — some 
slow.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  movements 
of  the  human  hand  are  faster  than  the  eye. 
If  you'll  gather  around  closer  I'll  endeavor 
to  make  my  meanin'  clearer.  Boys  not  allowed. 
No  crowding,  please.  I  have  here,  as  all  may 
see,  three  half  walnut  shells,  and  everybody 
who  cares  to  look  may  see  this  pea.  I  put 


io8  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

this  favorite  of  the  garden  under  one  of  the 
shells,  pass  my  hands  over  them  a  few  times, 
moving  some,  shifting  others — and  who  knows 
where  the  pea  is?  The  gentleman  was  right. 
You  tell  us,  stranger:  wrong.  Sometimes 
you  hit  it — sometimes  you  miss  it.  Boys,  did 
you  ever  hear  the  story  about  the  girl  goin' 
into  a  store  to  buy  a  pair  of  silk  stockings? 
This  scientific  experiment'll  be  lots  more  in 
teresting  if  we  back  up  our  judgment  with 
some  coin  of  the  realm.  Whatever  you  put 
down  I  cover.  I  cover  it  if  it  takes  the  gold 
out  of  my  teeth  and  shoes  off  the  baby.  We 
must  work  fast,  boys,  for  we  never  know 
who's  comin'.  The  gentleman  in  the  straw 
hat  guessed  it  right.  Keep  the  chicken  feed 
— poultry's  goin'  up.  This  gentleman  says 
five:  watch  me  carefully — watch  every  move 
ment.  He  wins.  My  loss.  Who  next? 
Some  people  has  good  eyes — some  bad.  Hands 
off  the  table.  The  quicker  you  play  the 
quicker  you  get  your  money.  'How  much  are 
those  silk  stockings?'  she  says  to  the  clerk. 
'Ten  dollars/  he  says.  'They  come  pretty 


THE  PRODUCTIVE  PEA         109 

high,  don't  they?'  she  says.  Here's  your 
change.  'Yes,  but  you're  a  tall  woman,'  he 
says.  Who  gets  the  next  five  ?  Ever  hear  the 
story  about  the  blonde  gettin'  into  the  wrong 
berth  in  the  Pullman  train?" 

Clem,  standing  at  the  edge  of  the  crowd, 
marveled  at  the  ease  and  rapidity  with  which 
Brassy  shifted  the  shells;  watching  as  care 
fully  as  he  could,  he  could  not  pick  the  shell 
that  housed  the  pea. 

Something  bumped  his  elbow.  It  was  the 
clown. 

"He's  there  with  the  bull,"  said  the  clown, 
his  enameled  face  spreading. 

"I  don't  see  what  becomes  of  that  pea. 
Sometimes  I  would  bet  my  old  black  hat  that 
I  knew  where  it  was,  but  when  Mr.  Hagan 
picks  up  the  shell  it  tain't  there." 

The  clown's  face  parted:  "Watch  his  little 
finger." 

At  first  when  Clem  wove  his  way  into  the 
crowd  he  could  not  catch  the  finger  at  its 
work,  but  on  closer  scrutiny  he  saw  the  hand 
pass  on  over  the  spot  where  the  pea  was  lying, 


no  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

the  finger  seeming  to  twitch.  Then  he  knew 
that  Brassy  had  scooped  it  up. 

A  farmer  boy  with  thick  browned  hands 
and  a  big  presidential  button  on  his  suspend 
ers  unwrapped  a  five-dollar  bill  from  the  cor 
ner  of  a  newspaper  and  put  his  money  on  the 
table.  Brassy  promptly  covered  it  and  shifted 
the  shells. 

"Five  times  on  the  board.  Watch  me  care 
fully — it's  under  only  one  of  'em.  Which  one, 
pardner  ?" 

A  thick  brown  finger  pointed.  A  small 
white  finger  twitched  and  the  pea  rolled  out 
from  under  another  shell,  and  the  bills  disap 
peared  into  Brassy's  pocket.  "One  man  loses 
— the  next  one  lucky.  Who  gets  the  next 
money  ?" 

The  boy  stared  with  hard  unbelieving  eyes 
a  moment,  then  backed  out,  his  face  burning. 
He  wandered  over  the  grounds.  Lost !  a  week's 
work  gone  at  a  puff.  He  met  an  older  man 
with  the  same  thick  browned  hands  and  drew 
him  aside.  The  older  man  listened  for  several 
minutes,  then  reluctantly  unwound  his  wallet 


THE  PRODUCTIVE  PEA         in 

and  handed  the  boy  a  bill.  The  boy  darted 
away,  out  of  sight  of  the  older  man,  then 
melted  into  the  crowd  around  the  folding 
table. 

"If  your  eyes  fool  you  once  don't  let  them 
do  it  again,"  Brassy  was  singing  out,  hitching 
his  sleeves  up  higher.  "It  all  depends  on  how 
close  you  watch  the  shells.  Where  is  it  now?" 

A  browned  finger  started  to  reach  out  but 
Clem  pushed  the  hand  away,  and  stepping  out 
of  the  crowd,  motioned  to  the  boy  to  follow. 

"Son,"  he  said,  "I  saw  you  get  this  money 
from  our  father,  and  it's  going  just  where 
the  other  did.  You  ain't  any  more  show  with 
him  than  butter  in  an  oven.  Ain't  you  got  a 
girl?" 

The  boy  reddened,  and  dropping  his  eyes, 
nodded. 

"Hunt  her  up,  get  her  reserved  seats  and 
show  her  a  good  time.  Then  the  rows  won't 
be  so  long  to-morrow." 

Big  eyes  poured  their  appreciation  into 
Clem's  while  the  tongue  held  still.  Catching 
sight  of  a  flutter  of  ribbons,  his  arms  began 


ii2  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

to  swing,  and  in  a  minute  the  sleeve  of  a  white 
dress  pushed  into  the  hook  of  his  arm. 

A  heavy  hand  fell  on  Clem's  shoulder.  He 
turned  to  look  into  the  flaming  eyes  of 
Brassy. 

"What  the  hell  do  you  mean?  That  was 
my  shortcake  and  you  jerked  it  out  of  my 
fingers.  Instead  of  capping  people  in  for  me, 
you're  driving  them  away.  What  you  got  to 
say  for  yourself?" 

Slowly  Clem's  enraged  face  calmed.  "I 
used  to  walk  up  one  side  of  a  row  of  corn 
and  come  back  on  the  other,"  he  returned  de 
liberately,  "and  I  know  how  hard  that  boy's 
money  comes.  Besides,  your  game  ain't 
honest." 

"Who're  you  to  be  talking?  I  didn't  see 
any  conductor  take  up  your  ticket  on  that  train. 
Ain't  you  been  acceptin'  the  hospitality  of  this 
company  and  ain't  you  workin'  for  me  ?  Ain't 
you  one  of  us?  Your  shirt's  just  as  dirty  as 
anybody's.  Are  you  going  to  ring  in  for  me 
or  not?" 

"Not  boys  like  that." 


That   was   my   shortcake 


THE  PRODUCTIVE  PEA         113 

"I  ain't  any  time  to  talk,  but  suppose  I 
wanted  to  holler;  the  rest  of  the  gang'd  fall 
in  with  me  and  where'd  you  be?  They'd 
frame  you,  that's  what  they'd  do." 

"I'm  not  going  to  see  any  boys  like  that 
robbed  in  plain  daylight,"  returned  Clem  dog 
gedly. 

"Say,  you  ain't  ever  told  us  why  you  left 
Curryville.  Do  you  want  us  to  telegraph  back 
you've  been  pinched?" 

Clem  stiffened.  "No,  no.  Only  don't  you 
see,  he  was  young  and  I  know  just  what  los 
ing  five  dollars — " 

Brassy  dropped  his  hand  on  Clem's  arm  fa 
miliarly.  "Come  on,  old  side-kick,  the  green's 
good.  If  we  don't  get  it  somebody  else  will. 
I  wouldn't  took  any  more  from  him,  anyway. 
I  just  pull  the  wise  ones — there  ain't  any- 
body'll  give  a  sick  fellow  a  five-spot  quicker'n  I 
will.  Here,  take  these  three  fives  and  drift  in 
every  new  crowd  and  put  down  a  plaster. 
You'd  be  the  hot  chocolate  for  capping  if  your 
collar  didn't  button  behind.  Poultice  your 
feet  and  come  on." 


H4  .WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

The  table  under  his  arm,  Brassy  pushed 
through  the  crowd.  In  a  minute  higher  than 
the  calls  of  the  ticket  sellers  rose  a  nasal  sing 
song:  "Everybody  likes  a  little  innocent  fun 
and  amusement.  It  quickens  the  pulse — " 


CHAPTER  VIII 

ALL   FLESH   IS  GRASS 

MOUTH  to  mouth  the  word  flew  that  Clem 
was  gone.  Mr.  Kiggins  ran  over  to 
Judge  Woodbridge's  office,  the  morning  after 
the  disappearance,  and  with  one  foot  in  the 
window  and  one  eye  on  the  White  Front  told 
the  judge  everything  that  he  had  heard,  filling 
in  the  barren  details  with  what  he  imagined  so 
that  by  the  time  he  got  through  the  judge 
knew  a  desperate-looking  character  had  been 
hanging  around  town  that  day  and  was  last 
seen  going  down  Mulberry  Street — the  very 
street  Clem  was  coming  up  to  get  the  medi 
cine. 

"I  was  thinkin'  that  very  night,"  said  Mr. 
Kiggins,  "as  I  was  layin'  there  tumbling  and 
tossing  from  my  shoulder  that  we  hadn't  had 
a  murder  or  catastrophe  in  this  town  since 


n6  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

the  Talbot  shooting,  sixteen  years  ago  this 
spring.  My  shoulder  was  paining  me  like 
jumping  Jerusalem,  just  like  as  if  somebody 
had  me  tied  hand  and  foot  and  was  marking 
their  initials  on  my  shoulder  with  a  red-hot 
poker,  and  once  in  a  while  they  would  put  in  a 
deep  period.  I  didn't  waken  none  of  my  fam 
ily — or  we  might  'a'  heard  the  struggle — but 
laid  there  without  a  groan,  for  I  say,  what  is 
the  good  of  complaining  and  tellin'  your  trou 
bles  to  other  people  ?  And  while  I  was  thinkin* 
how  unfortunate  we  was,  this  sad  crime  was 
being  committed  three  blocks  away.  There 
goes  John  Jupes  now!" 

The  city  marshal  was  hurrying  down  the 
street  as  fast  as  his  rheumatism  would  let  him, 
pinning  his  badge  on  the  outside  of  his  coat. 
Mr.  Kiggins  rushed  down  the  stairs,  all  but 
forgetting  his  lame  foot,  his  wrenched  shoul 
der  and  his  bad  heart,  locked  the  White  Front 
and  set  out  after  the  city  officer.  He  found 
Reverend  Sadnow  pacing  up  and  down  the 
front  yard,  his  hands  pushed  up  his  sleeves 
and  his  hair  wildly  tumbled. 


ALL  FLESH  IS  GRASS  117 

"The  work  of  the  Lord,"  greeted  the  cleri 
cal  raven.  "In  the  midst  of  life  we  are  in 
the  midst  of  death.  Flesh  is  but  grass  be 
fore  the  great  Mower." 

Mr.  Kiggins  listened  to  the  questions  Mar 
shal  Jupes  put  to  Hulda  and  then  returned  to 
Reverend  Sadnow.  "I  feel  it  in  my  bones," 
he  said,  "that  it  was  the  tramp  we  been  seeing 
loafing  around  here  for  the  last  couple  days. 
Let's  go  down  the  street  and  see  if  we  can't 
find  where  they  met." 

"All  flesh  is  grass  and  the  nations  are  as  a 
drop  in  a  bucket,"  letting  the  words  fall  in 
measured  beats  of  sadness. 

The  two  started  down  the  street. 

"I  was  awake  last  night — my  shoulder  hurt 
ing  me  again  like  coals  rolling  up  and  down 
my  back,  never  gettin'  quite  off,  like  these 
colored  capsules  with  shot  in  them  that  they 
sell  on  the  streets,  rolling  them  up  and  down 
a  board.  Sometimes  I'd  think  the  live  coals 
was  goin'  to  tumble  off  but  they'd  turn 
around  again  and  come  thumpin'  and  bouncin* 
back." 


u8  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

"No  one  knoweth  what  a  night  will  bring 
forth,  and  life  is  as  a  spark  that  flies  up 
ward!" 

"While  I  was  layin'  there  I  heard  something 
like  a  heavy  thud,  then  a  groan,  but  I  laid  it 
to  my  mind  bein'  delirious  and  didn't  call  the 
family.  I  never  disturb  anybody,  no  difference 
how  bad  off  I  am.  Look,  look!"  exclaimed 
Mr.  Kiggins,  dropping  on  one  knee,  and  point 
ing  to  a  footprint  and  a  torn  bit  of  cloth. 
"Here's  where  the  death  struggle  took  place 
and  all  Curryville  sleepin'  peacefully — all  ex 
cept  me,  and  me  the  only  person  to  hear  it, 
but  sufferin'  so  I  thought  I  was  delirious." 

"Life  is  a  candle  and  death  the  draught  that 
snuffs  it  out." 

Mr.  Kiggins  rushed  back  to  the  house  and 
found  Marshal  Jupes  and  laid  before  him  his 
discovery,  putting  in  a  few  embellishments  in 
the  way  of  what  he  had  heard  the  night  be 
fore  when  he  was  suffering  from  his  shoulder 
and  was  half  delirious.  It  had  been  a  terri 
ble  hand-to-hand  struggle,  Clem  fighting  des 
perately,  but  the  tramp  was  big  and  burly  and 


ALL  FLESH  IS  GRASS  119 

had  so  completely  stunned  him  with  the  first 
blow  that  Clem  could  not  see  for  the  blood. 
Then  all  had  grown  silent,  and  Mr.  Kiggins 
had  tumbled  into  a  fitful  slumber  in  spite  of 
the  great  pain  in  his  shoulder  as  if  somebody 
with  a  pair  of  steel  nippers  was  pulling  out 
chunks  of  flesh  and  tossing  them  gleefully  on 
the  ground. 

Officer  Jupes  was  bending  over  the  foot 
prints  when  up  rushed  Rick  Oody.  "I  found 
Clem's  hat  and  coat  down  by  the  river,"  he 
panted,  "and  a  club  with  hair  on  it!" 

Rick  motioned  toward  Diedrich  Bend,  and 
with  one  accord  all  started  in  that  direction. 
The  crowd  was  augmented  at  every  corner; 
Mr.  Knabb  hobbled  off  toward  his  buggy-shed 
and  in  an  incredibly  short  time  was  back  in 
his  democrat  wagon.  Drawing  up  alongside 
Officer  Jupes,  he  slid  over  in  his  seat  and  the 
official  swung  in  without  the  rig  stopping.  The 
rural  carriers,  with  their  one-horse  rigs 
hitched  in  front  of  the  post-office  waiting  for 
the  last  mail,  followed  the  crowd  enviously, 
but  finally  turned  back.  It  was  a  silent  hushed 


120  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

crowd,  no  one  raising  a  voice  above  a  hoarse 
whisper. 

The  men  slipped  through  the  barbed- wire 
fence,  each  man  getting  over  the  best  way  he 
could,  none  offering  to  hold  up  the  wire  for 
the  person  behind.  Jupes  was  slightly  in  ad 
vance,  Rick  Oody  at  his  heels  and  Judge 
Woodbridge  close  behind,  followed  by  the 
others.  On  the  muddied  bank,  loam  spread 
over  the  sand  like  chocolate  over  ice-cream, 
lay  the  torn  coat  and  crumpled  hat.  Near  was 
a  heavy  stick,  one  end  plowed  into  the  white 
and  black  layers.  The  river,  heavy  with  rich 
soil,  in  some  places  black,  in  other  channels 
stirred  with  yellow  clay,  lapped  lazily  on  the 
bank  as  if  maliciously  hiding  its  mystery.  A 
woodpecker  pounded  on  a  hollow  limb,  thrust 
its  yellow  head  around  the  tree,  turned  it  to 
one  side  as  if  to  expostulate  with  the  invaders, 
then  flapped  noisily  away.  A  green  and  black 
knot  on  a  log  slid  into  the  water  and  a  snake 
wriggled  down  the  wet  bank  in  a  series  of 
"s's"  and  slipped  into  the  water  without  cut 
ting  a  ripple. 


ALL  FLESH  IS  GRASS  121 

"I  ain't  touched  a  thing,"  whispered  Rick. 
"I  was  comin'  back  from  taking  Widow 
Wood's  horse  down  the  river  when  I  seen  this 
coat.  He  used  to  ride  me  on  his  knee — " 

Turning  over  his  clay-stained  hand  he  found 
a  clean  knuckle  and  plowed  it  into  his  eyes. 
Reaching  across  with  his  left  hand,  he  picked 
up  his  right  sleeve  and  wiped  his  eyes  again. 
" — and  tickle  me  in  the  ribs." 

Marshal  Jupes  picked  up  the  torn  and  soiled 
coat  and  cap  and  finally  the  stick. 

"His  hair,"  he  said  brokenly. 

Marshal  Jupes  looked  toward  the  black 
depths  of  the  river  significantly,  and  Judge 
Woodbridge  nodded  assent. 

Placing  the  hat  and  coat  back  in  their  for 
mer  position,  Jupes  picked  up  a  stick  and  drew 
a  circle  around  them.  "Boys,"  he  said,  "keep 
out  of  this  till  we  get  some  hounds." 

The  men  gathered  around  in  a  little  knot, 
hardly  raising  their  voices  above  a  whisper. 
Slowly  they  all  turned  until  they  faced  the  black 
and  yellow  layered  river.  An  arm  was  raised, 
pointing  down  the  current  where  it  rolled  slug- 


122  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

gishly  against  a  dirty  yellow  bank,  and  a  dozen 
heads  nodded  understandingly.  The  men 
walked  back  to  the  fence,  Judge  Woodbridge 
first  through  and  holding  up  the  wire  until  all 
had  bent  under. 

"I'll  run  to  Coop  Goodson's  and  get  his 
seine,"  volunteered  Rick  Oody.  "I'll  cut 
across  and  it  won't  take  no  time."  Rick  turned 
into  the  timber,  bending  his  head,  every  few 
steps,  to  his  right  sleeve  and  reaching  across 
with  his  left  hand. 

As  the  knot  of  men  rolled  up  the  hill,  peace 
settled  over  the  river:  the  green  and  black 
turtle  parted  the  thick  water  with  a  nose  like 
the  end  of  a  stick,  then  crawled  awkwardly 
up  on  the  log  again,  and  the  snake  slipped 
out  of  the  water  without  breaking  its  surface 
and  settled  itself  on  the  warm  bank. 

All  was  peace  again  except  for  one  thing 
that  moved;  it  was  a  figure  slipping  out  of 
the  underbrush.  It  paused  behind  a  tree  a 
moment,  then  walked  quickly  to  the  coat  and 
picked  it  up.  Next  it  studied  the  hat  and 


ALL  FLESH  IS  GRASS          123 

finally  turned  to  the  heavy  stick  with  the  heavy 
hair. 

It  was  Rencie — Rencie  Ford. 

Before  the  men  returned  with  the  seine  and 
began  dragging  the  river  for  the  body  of  Clem 
Pointer,  Rencie  had  slipped  away.  However, 
his  younger  eyes  had  searched  out  something 
that  the  others  had  not  seen.  He  stooped  and 
picked  it  up:  it  was  a  watch-charm — a  round 
ball  of  marble,  with  North  and  South  Amer 
ica  and  the  Old  World  marked  off  in  black. 

Men  in  overalls  and  heavy  shirts  swam  in 
the  middle  of  the  river,  turn  about,  diving 
down  and  keeping  the  seine  on  the  bottom, 
while  on  the  shore  walked  the  older  men,  drag 
ging  the  net.  On  coming  ashore  the  black  mud 
squirted  out  of  the  holes  of  their  shoes.  Grimly 
they  searched  the  river,  going  back  time  after 
time  over  the  lee  waters  where  the  current 
nosed  into  the  yellow  bank.  Down  to  the  mill 
they  worked  their  way,  shaking  out  the  net 
at  each  haul  and  letting  the  turtles  run  sprad 
dling  back  into  the  water. 


i24  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

When  the  bloodhounds  came  they  were  led 
to  the  spot  and  their  noses  pushed  against  the 
hat  and  coat.  They  swung  their  heads  up  and 
down  wisely,  shook  their  long  ears  and  ran, 
a  half-dozen  times,  around  the  spot  in  a  circle. 
In  their  wrinkled  faces  was  the  wisdom  of  all 
the  ages,  but  time  after  time  they  came  back 
to  the  hat  and  coat  and  trotted  off  with  their 
cold  noses  to  the  ground.  Once  one  of  them 
bayed,  took  a  straight  line,  but  stopped  and 
again  began  making  circles.  Finally  they 
came  back  to  the  hat  and  coat  and  stood  wag 
ging  their  tails  and  bobbing  their  heads. 

"The  scent's  cold,"  explained  the  sheriff, 
and  leashed  the  animals. 

Parties  were  formed  and  for  days  the  sur 
rounding  woods  were  searched  and  every 
thicket  plumbed,  but  the  mystery  was  just  as 
far  from  solution  as  ever.  Mr.  Kiggins  sup 
plied  the  powder  from  the  White  Front  and 
shots  were  fired  over  the  river,  but  the  river 
flowed  on  as  sluggishly  as  before. 

Rewards  were  posted  and  nearly  every  day 
came  word  that  the  body  had  been  found,  or 


ALL  FLESH  IS  GRASS 


that  a  suspicious  character  had  been  picked  up 
in  a  neighboring  county,  only  for  a  later  word 
to  contradict  everything.  Slowly  Curryville 
settled  back  into  its  routine;  that  is,  all  ex 
cept  one.  This  was  Rencie  Ford. 

He  became  more  alert  and  agile  than  ever. 
This  was  the  opportunity  he  had  been  waiting 
for  all  his  life;  all  his  studying  and  piecing 
together  of  torn  letters  could  now  be  utilized. 

Not  one  word  did  he  say  to  any  one  about 
the  two-hemisphere  watch-charm.  One  thing 
he  knew,  and  that  was  that  it  did  not  belong 
to  Mr.  Pointer.  The  simplest  way  to  unravel 
the  mystery  was  to  find  the  owner  of  the 
charm.  But  this  wasn't  simple,  not  by  a  great 
deal.  Still  no  murder  mystery  was  easy  to 
unravel.  The  first  steps  were,  of  course,  to 
find  a  clue  and  a  motive.  He  had  found  the 
clue,  but  why  should  anybody  wish  to  harm 
Clem  Pointer  ?  He  was  the  most  likable  man  in 
the  world  and  everybody  was  his  friend.  Rob 
bery  was  not  the  motive,  for  he  had  no  money 
with  him.  That  anybody  should  raise  a  hand 
against  him  for  his  money  was  ridiculous. 


126  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

He  went  to  see  Miss  Pointer,  and  swung 
the  conversation  around  to  Clem's  early  life. 
"Do  you  think,  Miss  Pointer,  that  at  any  time 
Mr.  Pointer  ever  had  trouble  with  anybody 
who'd  store  it  up  and  hold  it  against  him  all 
their  life?" 

"No,  Rencie,  no.  He  never  harmed  a  kit 
ten.  There  wasn't  a  person  in  the  world  that 
wouldn't  walk  around  a  block  to  shake  hands 
with  him  and  talk  weather.  Do  you  know 
how  long  it  took  him  sometimes  to  walk  seven 
blocks  from  the  post-office  to  this  house? 
Mostly  an  hour,  and  never  under  forty-five 
minutes." 

"But  didn't  he  ever  have  any  trouble  with 
anybody  so  that  it  could  smolder  in  the  other 
person?"  insisted  Rencie  hopefully. 

"Yes,  he  did,"  replied  Hulda  thoughtfully, 
while  Rencie  leaned  forward  expectantly. 
"One  time  he  took  a  girl  to  a  box  social  where 
they  auction  off  the  lunch  boxes  and  you  don't 
know  whose  you  are  getting.  Hig  Beamer 
got  an  old  maid's  instead  of  the  one  he  wanted 
and  he  threw  it  out  the  window  right  in  front 


ALL  FLESH  IS  GRASS          127 

of  her.  Clem — I  can  see  him  now,  the  way  he 
rose  up  and  motioned  his  forefinger  like  this, 
and  got  Hig  Beamer  outside.  Clem's  tongue 
was  sticking  out  and  I'd  never  seen  him  do 
that  before.  After  a  bit  Clem  come  back;  his 
eye  was  bleeding  and  he  kept  one  hand  in  his 
pocket,  but  Hig  Beamer  didn't  come  back  at 
all.  Nobody  saw  him  for  a  week  and  finally 
he  moved  to  another  town." 

"Oh !"  exclaimed  Rencie.  "Did  Mr.  Beamer 
have  a  mean  disposition  that'd  harbor  up  a 
thing  for  years  and  years?" 

"Yes,  he  did,  but  I  mustn't  say  that — poor 
man,  he  was  killed  in  that  Kirksville  cyclone." 

Rencie  sank  back,  all  hope  of  finding  an  old 
enemy  gone.  He  was  putting  on  his  hat  when 
Miss  Pointer  burst  into  sobs. 

"I  don't  know  what  to  do,"  she  said,  bring 
ing  a  corner  of  her  apron  to  her  eyes.  "My 
mind's  in  such  an  unsettled  state  that  I  don't 
know  where  I'm  at.  Just  this  morning  Doctor 
Fordyce  was  around  wanting  me  to  sign  up 
and  let  him  have  the  lots  in  the  Bellows  Bot 
tom — for  his  medicine  factory,  you  know.  He 


128  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

says  he's  got  options  on  all  the  rest  and  that 
I  am  holding  back  the  development  of  the  city 
by  not  letting  him  have  them.  Clem,  he'd 
know  what  to  do  in  a  minute."  She  picked  up 
the  corner  of  her  apron  again  and  Rencie 
turned  his  eyes  aside. 

Half-way  down  the  block  Rencie  suddenly 
came  to  a  full  stop  with  an  idea.  Where  had 
he  seen  that  hemisphere  charm  before?  .  .  . 
On  Doctor  Fordyce !  The  idea  made  his  head 
whirl,  but  he  steadied  in  a  moment  and  told 
himself  that  a  detective  must  always  be  pre 
pared  for  everything  and  suspect  everybody 
until  proved  innocent. 

"I  suspicioned  him  from  the  very  first  time 
he  put  his  arm  around  me  and  called  me  'son 
ny/  "  said  Rencie,  who  could  see  through  any 
guise  of  innocence.  He  had  graduated  from  a 
correspondence  detective  course  and  was  their 
agent  for  that  county.  He  had  a  star  to  prove 
it.  A  gold  star,  too,  that  looked  pretty  well 
when  you  polished  it  with  soap  and*  water. 
The  company  was  going  to  turn  over  all  its 
cases  in  that  neighborhood  to  him,  and  he  was 


ALL  FLESH  IS  GRASS  129 

a  regularly  licensed  detective  with  a  grade  of 
ninety-seven  per  cent,  in  the  final  examinations. 
The  company  hadn't  had  any  cases  in  his  terri 
tory  since  he  had  graduated,  but  they  might 
have  any  day.  A  queer  thing  about  crime  is 
that  you  can't  tell  when  it's  going  to  break  out ; 
there  might  be  a  perfect  crime  wave  at  any 
moment  in  his  district,  and  of  course  he  alone 
would  get  to  handle  all  the  cases. 

Never  suspecting  that  a  licensed  detective 
was  watching  his  every  movement,  Doctor 
Fordyce  went  and  came  with  freedom.  Even 
had  he  known  that  his  steps  were  being 
watched  he  could  not  have  foretold  the  con 
sequences.  Many  an  hour  he  stood  at  his 
hotel  window  hoping  to  catch  sight  of  a  trim 
and  sprightly  figure  coming  down  the  street. 
It  was  not  until  after  several  days  of  wait 
ing  that  he  got  to  speak  to  Mary  Mendenhall. 

"Why  do  you  keep  me  away  so  effectually?" 
he  asked. 

She  did  not  look  toward  him.  He  kept  pace 
at  her  side  for  a  block. 

"He  didn't  care  anything  for  you,  and  here 


you  are  with  tears  still  in  your  eyes  for  him, 
when  he  never  gave  you  a  second  thought." 

Mary  Mendenhall  turned  to  him,  her  eyes 
flashing.  "I  never  said  that  he  cared  for  me, 
and  I  don't  see  what  difference  it  makes  to 
you  if  he  did.  He  was  a  good  noble  man, 
and  that's  more  than  can  be  said  for  some 
people." 

The  doctor  laughed  as  he  opened  the  gate 
of  her  front  yard.  "That's  the  quickest  way 
in  the  world  to  find  out  what's  going  on  in  a 
woman's  heart — just  prod  up  the  fellow  that 
she's  thinking  about." 

"Doctor  Fordyce,  I  have  a  headache  and  I 
am  going  in.  I  shall  bid  you  good  evening." 

"A  headache's  as  good  as  any  other  excuse. 
And  this  is  the  way  you  treat  me  after  all  I 
have  done  for  you.  Why  is  it  you  treat  me 
this  way?" 

He  came  close  to  her,  and  resting  one  knee 
in  the  porch  swing,  looked  into  her  eyes.  He 
was  master  of  all  the  little  artifices  that  win. 

"Because  I  know  too  much  about  you,  and 
because  I  don't  like  you — that's  why."  Her 


ALL  FLESH  IS  GRASS          131 

head  went  up  splendidly  and  her  eyes  fastened 
on  him  unwaveringly. 

"Yes,  but  I  love  you,  Mary."  His  voice 
dropped  pleadingly,  and  in  it  was  every  art 
of  the  trained  reader.  "That  makes  up  for 
everything.  When  that  comes  all  else  goes. 
You  hate  me  on  account  of  my  past;  you  do 
not  see  the  new  man  budding  in  me.  I  have 
been  short  in  the  past,  but  I  have  repented 
bitterly.  I  am  a  new  man  all  over.  I  must 
say  it  again,  Mary,  simply,  plainly,  as  all  great 
and  wonderful  things  should  be  said.  I  love 
you." 

"It  is  not  love.  It  is  fascination.  You  are 
a  man  of  pursuit  only.  Possession  to  you  is 
loss  of  interest.  I  don't  believe  that  a  true 
emotion  ever  touched  your  heart.'* 

Doctor  Fordyce  bent  over  her.  "Mary, 
there  is  one  thing  I  wish  to  say  to  you."  He 
spoke  slowly  as  if  thinking  several  sentences 
ahead.  "You  are  going  to  love  me.  It  is 
just  and  right  that  you  should.  It  was  so 
intended.  Now  that  he  is  gone  your  mind 
will  settle  down  and  you  will  see  the  earnest- 


132  WHEN  TO  LOGIC  THE  STABLE 

ness  of  my  appeal.  Love  can't  go  long  un 
answered." 

Doctor  Fordyce  was  laying  his  plans  well. 
His  psychology  took  into  consideration  that 
greatest  of  factors  in  making  a  rebellious  heart 
say  "yes" — that  of  environment.  He  knew 
that  with  her  interest  gone — Clem — she  would 
seek  another.  Her  work  could  not  be  all.  By 
being  thrown  with  her  he  would  come  to  in 
terest  her  gradually.  Each  day  the  fight 
against  him  would  be  less  and  less  hearty~ 
his  faults  would  be  ironed  out  by  his  virtues, 
which  he  would  bring  to  her  attention  from  day 
to  day.  Fordyce  was  planning  well. 

Standing  upright,  his  arms  across  his  breast, 
he  looked  down  on  her  conqueringly.  He 
knew  that  even  the  position  of  his  body 
counted;  that  his  calm  command  of  himself 
was  his  fulcrum.  He  knew  that  woman  must 
be  conquered;  that  she  would  surrender.  He 
began  slowly: 

"I  have  something  more  to  say  to  you.  It 
is  not  in  defense  of  myself,  but  I  am  saying 


ALL  FLESH  IS  GRASS          133 

it  as  a  friend — a  very  dear  friend — to  warn 
you.  It  is  about  Pointer.  I  hate  to  say  it — 
if  there  were  any  other  way  in  the  world,  I 
would  not — but  I  could  have  killed  him 
myself.  Don't  look  at  me  that  way — you  don't 
know  what  I  do.  He  has  been  talking  about 
you.  When  he  was  with  other  men  he  made 
little  remarks  about  you  that  often  maddened 
me.  You  know  what  those  things  are — little 
nothings — things  that  one  can  hardly  put  a 
finger  on,  but  things  that  eat  deep  through 
subtle  suggestion.  But  there,  I  mustn't  say 
anything  against  him — now  that  he  is  gone." 

Fordyce  had  unerringly  taken  the  quickest 
way  to  rid  a  woman's  heart  of  love  by  making 
her  believe  that  her  idol  was  speaking  of  her 
lightly  and  unfaithfully. 

Mary's  hands  went  slowly  up  to  her  bosom, 
and  she  bit  her  lips,  while  her  eyes  were  fixed 
and  staring. 

Fordyce  saw  his  opportunity.  "You  know 
that  I  love  you,  love  you  only  as  a  big  hearty, 
healthy  man  could.  Now  may  I  ask  you  just 


134  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

one  thing — if  he  doesn't  come  back  soon,  will 
you  give  me  another  chance,  that  we  may  be 
friends?" 

She  kept  her  eyes  on  the  ground  for  a  mo 
ment.  Her  hands  trembled  slightly,  and  some 
thing  near  a  smile  flashed  across  Fordyce's 
face.  Her  eyes  came  up  to  his  with  more  light 
and  trust  in  them  than  they  had  ever  shown 
before. 

"Yes,"  she  answered  softly,  "if  he  doesn't 
come  back — " 

"—Soon?" 

"Yes,  soon." 

The  two  sat  in  the  swinging  seat  and  Clara, 
the  maid,  brought  out  refreshments.  Then 
they  talked.  Fordyce  was  in  high  mood  and 
soon  Clara  heard  her  mistress  laughing. 


CHAPTER  IX 

SHORTCAKE 

THE  clown  was  leaning  against  the  scuffed 
chariot  half  asleep  when  Clem  came  up. 

"I'd  think  you'd  be  in  there  watching  what 
was  going  on,"  said  Clem,  hitching  a  heel 
over  the  hub. 

The  clown's  lips  parted,  but  the  kindest 
heart  couldn't  call  it  a  smile.  "I've  been  watch 
ing  it  for  twenty  years.  They  tried  to  edu 
cate  me  to  be  a  priest,  and  now  I'm  driving 
the  dunce  cart.  I  hope  you  aren't  starting 
in  with  us." 

"Yes,"  returned  Clem  proudly,  "just  joined. 
The  beds  ain't  much  to  speak  of,  are  they? — 
but  there's  lots  of  excitement.  I  wish  the 
cook'd  strain  the  coffee." 

"Last  week  we  didn't  have  any  coffee  and 
the  week  before  the  cook  was  drunk.  We 
hardly  ever  get  them  both  the  same  week." 

135 


136  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

The  music  inside  the  tent  rolled  higher  and 
higher,  hung  silent  an  awful  moment  and 
came  down  with  a  crash. 

"Red  Weaver's  doing  the  triple  somer 
sault,"  announced  the  clown.  "His  brother 
missed  the  net  last  year  in  Topeka." 

'Did  it  hurt  him?" 

"No,"  returned  the  painted  man  grimly. 
"He  never  knew  what  happened.  All  the  old 
bunch's  gone.  Minnie  Turpin,  who  used  to 
be  shot  out  of  the  mouth  of  the  cannon — La 
Diavola — had  a  heart  as  big  as  a  blanket,  but 
the  cannon  exploded." 

The  clown  tapped  the  ground  with  his  long 
misshapen  toe  and  looked  out  across  the  rail 
road  to  a  corn-field  rolling  over  the  hill  be 
fore  the  wind,  its  white  tassels  beckoning  with 
myriad  hands. 

"I've  got  a  brother  that's  a  doctor,"  said 
the  clown,  as  if  picking  up  a  loose  sentence 
out  of  his  thoughts,  "and  he's  got  six  chil 
dren.  One  of  them  is  named  after  me,  and  I 
sent  him  a  goat  Christmas." 

Gem  waited  until  the  clown's  attention  came 


SHORTCAKE  137 

back  from  across  the  waving  fields.  "I'd  like 
to  ask  you  something,  mister,  if  you  don't 
mind."  The  clown  raised  his  brows  in  inter 
est.  "What  is  shortcake — that's  what  they 
called  me." 

The  merrymaker  smiled  slowly,  weighing 
whether  or  not  he  should  answer.  "It's  a 
term  the  boys  have,"  deciding  that  it  was  for 
the  best,  "that  means  easy  money.  It's  a  lamb 
that  hasn't  yet  been  to  the  shearers." 

"Well,  they  won't  get  anything  from  me," 
said  Clem.  "You  can't  get  tallow  from  a 
gnat." 

The  clown  smiled  but  offered  no  word. 
Clem  fell  into  thought  for  a  time,  then  said, 
"I  ain't  seen  a  circus  in  twenty  years  without 
paying.  I  guess  they  ain't  so  good  any  more." 

The  misshapen  shoe  was  still.  The  clown 
came  to  his  feet — humorously  if  it  had  been 
inside  the  tent — his  shoe  sticking  out  in  front, 
like  a  boy  standing  in  the  tops  of  his  boots, 
only  it  wasn't  humorous.  The  laggard  light 
was  still  in  his  eyes,  and  the  white  hands  still 
beckoned  over  the  hill. 


138  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

"Sure  they  are.  Follow  Captain  Scully 
with  the  seals,  dodge  under  the  seats  and  go 
over  to  the  band  section.  They'll  find  room 
for  you  there.  Only  don't  let  the  colonel  see 
you." 

Clem  slipped  inside  and  in  a  minute  had 
found  a  seat  as  the  clown  had  directed.  For 
got  was  all  the  outside  world;  how  could  the 
lady  in  spangles  hold  on  by  just  teeth,  swing 
ing  from  the  bar  that  way?  And  the  tramp 
in  the  ragged  clothes  turned  out  to  be  the  best 
performer  after  all.  Clem  had  hardly  straight 
ened  his  knees  and  taken  a  long  breath  before 
the  crowd  filed  out. 

Clem  paused  before  a  painting  on  a  wide 
flung  canvas  of  Archibald,  the  Human  Pin 
cushion.  Archibald,  according  to  his  pictured 
likeness,  was  a  care-free  individual  in  spite  of 
the  fact  that  he  was  a  repository  for  all  kinds 
of  pins,  nails,  files,  scissors  and  sword  blades. 
They  were  sticking  through  the  loose  skin  of 
his  throat,  in  the  web  of  his  forefinger  and 
thumb,  and  through  the  back  of  his  neck,  with 


SHORTCAKE  139 

a  few  scattering  hatpins  in  his  legs.  Above 
this  tangle  of  cutlery  towered  Archibald,  a 
sweet,  almost  innocent  smile  on  his  face,  seem 
ingly  unconscious  of  the  fact  that  in  his  ab 
straction  somebody  had  put  all  this  hardware 
on  him.  Above  all,  shining  over  all,  even  tri 
umphing  over  the  blunt  and  sturdy  hatpin  in 
the  back  of  his  neck,  was  his  smile.  His  was 
a  strong  clear-cut  face  with  the  exception  that 
recent  rain  had  slightly  discolored  his  jaw  and 
had  washed  one  ear  down  on  his  bulging  eve 
ning  dress.  But  these  little  things  didn't  make 
any  difference  to  Archibald;  he  was  out  to 
have  a  good  time,  and  didn't  mind  the  wind 
or  weather. 

The  smile  was  laid  on  with  such  a  heavy 
brush  that  in  a  moment  Clem's  face  began  to 
widen  and  his  throat  to  itch  just  above  the 
Adam's  apple. 

"That  thing's  got  me  doing  it,  too,"  said 
Clem  aloud,  straightening  his  face. 

A  hand  dropped  on  his  shoulder  and  re 
fused  to  lift.  Clem  turned  to  look  into  the 


140  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

face  of  a  large  portly  individual  with  a  to 
bacco-stained  goatee.  It  was  the  colonel,  to 
whom  all  the  gamblers  paid  their  dues. 

"Come  with  me,"  he  said,  sliding  his  hand 
down  Clem's  arm  and  at  the  same  time  sidling 
through  the  crowd.  Out  through  the  eddy  of 
people  milling  around  the  side-show  tent,  into 
open  space  and  out  behind  a  tent  and  stake 
wagon. 

The  man  folded  his  arms  across  an  abdo 
men  that  looked  as  if  it  had  been  put  there 
for  that  special  purpose.  He  gazed  at  Clem 
sadly  for  a  minute  without  saying  a  word. 
Then  his  stained  goatee  began  to  twitch. 

"You  are  accused  of  a  very  grave  offense/' 
he  said  sadly.  "I  hate  to  be  the  one  to  tell 
you  of  it." 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Clem  quickly. 

The  portly  individual  bit  his  under  lip  and 
his  face  winced,  braving  himself  for  the  or 
deal.  "You  are  accused,"  he  said  with  heavy 
huskiness,  "of  stealing  fifteen  dollars  from 
Mr.  Hagan,  an  old  and  valued  member  of  the 
circus.  I  hope  it's  not  true." 


SHORTCAKE  141 

"Of  course  it's  not,"  returned  Clem.  "Who 
said  so?" 

"Mr.  Hagan  himself  has  made  complaint 
to  headquarters.  I  am  not  aware  of  all  the 
details  and  I  should  not  give  you  any  informa 
tion,  but  I  understand  that  Mr.  Hagan  affirms 
that  he  gave  you  three  five-dollar  bills  with 
which  you  were  to  do  all  in  your  power  to 
assist  him  in  his  work,  but  that  instead  you 
received  this  money  or  moneys  and  disap 
peared.  I  trust  this  is  not  true,  Mr. — " 

" — Pointer.  I  didn't  steal  it — here  it  is — 
take  it." 

"Then  you  still  have  it  on  your  person. 
That  complicates  matters  more  than  ever,"  fin 
ished  the  other  gravely. 

"But  I  went  into  the  show  for  just  a  min 
ute." 

"Mr.  Hagan  has  been  looking  for  you  all 
afternoon  and  the  officials  have  been  unable 
to  locate  you.  They  are  watching  all  out 
bound  trains." 

"What  can  I  do?"  Clem  appealed. 

The  gentleman  of  girth  shook  his  head  sad- 


142  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

ly  and  reached  for  his  meditative  goatee. 
"Let's  hunt  up  Mr.  Hagan  and  see  if  we  can 
prevail  upon  him  to  show  some  leniency.  We'll 
hope  for  the  best,  anyway.  Be  cheerful,  Mr. 
Pointer — there's  always  hope,"  finished  the 
portly  gentleman  sadly. 

Mr.  Hagan  was  found  easily.  Surprising 
ly  so. 

"He  didn't  get  clear  away  then,"  exclaimed 
Brassy,  rushing  up  and  addressing  the  captor. 
"That's  lucky.  Are  the  papers  ready?" 

"I  didn't  steal  that  money,"  put  in  Clem, 
"I  was  at  the  show  all  the  time." 

Brassy  looked  at  Clem  coldly  for  fully  a 
minute  before  he  spoke.  "You're  pretty 
clever;  you  fooled  me.  I'm  sorry  you  turned 
out  yellow.  I  was  willing  to  share  up  with  you 
because  you  looked  the  part  and  you  could 
rope  the  rubes,  but  you  had  the  streak." 

"It  tain't  honest,  that's  what  it  ain't." 

Brassy  fastened  him  with  a  superior  smile. 
"Who're  you  to  talk  about  honesty?" 

"Well,  I  am  anyway,  and  it  tain't  right  to 
take  their  money  away  from  them  that  way. 


SHORTCAKE 


I  didn't  know  your  racket  at  first  or  I  wouldn't 
bit." 

"Don't  you  worry  about  gettin'  their  kale," 
said  Brassy,  his  tongue  loosening.  "I  am  a 
profound  believer  in  that  masterly  bit  of  phi 
losophy  which  runs  to  the  effect  that  there's 
one  born  every  minute,  and  in  wet  years  the 
average  runnin'  up  close  to  two.  They  come 
out  to  the  circus  once  a  year  with  money  in 
their  jeans,  by  jooks!  and  if  they  don't  get  a 
thrill  over  a  table  they'll  go  out  and  hit  it  up 
over  a  bar.  Once  a  year  ain't  often  to  iron 
the  ruts  out  their  brains.  They  think  about 
it  all  summer,  and  dream  about  it  till  the 
frost's  out.  If  we  don't  get  the  green  some 
body  else  will.  Put  that  down  under  Useful 
Information.  You  never  saw  me  take  a  red 
off  a  souse;  no  children  go  to  bed  hungry  on 
my  trail.  I  tell  'em  in  my  patter  that  they 
can't  always  guess  it  and  that  the  table's  going 
to  win  every  time  it  can.  A  lot  of  these  cod 
gers  we  take  it  off  of  go  home  in  automobiles 
and  what's  your  make?  They  ain't  going  to 
miss  it  —  they  all  got  socks  under  the  fireplace. 


I44  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

Now  come  on,  old  sport,  fit  in  and  we'll  clean 
up.  While  the  main  top's  going  we'll  line  up 
the  wise  Willies — every  town's  full  of  human 
Brittanicas  that  you  can't  tell  anything — and 
give  them  their  first  lesson  in  meekness.  I'm 
clean  out  of  paper  cigar  lighters.  Help  me 
out  to-night  and  we'll  call  it  square." 

Clem  hesitated:  after  all  Brassy  was  human 
and  maybe  he  was  right  about  its  not  pinching 
any  of  them. 

"Just  to-night  and  we'll  reform.  What  say?" 
Brassy  held  out  his  hand  and  Clem's  went 
limply  into  it.  "We'll  clean  up  to-night  and 
shake  it.  I've  been  thinkin'  about  going  back 
home  to  selling  hog  cholera  remedies  again  for 
some  time  anyway.  Trailing  a  circus  is  a  dog's 
life.  But  let's  clean  good  and  hard  this  last 
time  before  we  quit." 

Clem  reluctantly  agreed  and  as  soon  as  the 
gasoline  torches  were  going  had  his  table 
spread.  Clem,  better  coached,  drifted  among 
the  men  and  boys,  dropping  a  good  word 
whenever  he  could  and  coming  up  every  few 
minutes  with  a  five-dollar  bill  that  always 


SHORTCAKE  145 

brought  back  a  mate.  As  Brassy  handed  him 
over  the  companion  bill  he  gave  a  prodigious 
wink,  all  the  time  crying  out: 

"See  what's  on  the  tree  for  this  gentleman. 
He  didn't  move  a  muscle  and  the  five's  his. 
What  he  can  do  everybody  can  do.  Two  can 
play  as  well  as  one." 

Clem  noticed  a  dry-faced  man  with  his  hand 
in  his  coat  pocket  studying  him  between  two 
narrow  slits.  He  was  just  about  to  worm  up 
to  the  table  when  the  dry-faced  man  stepped 
over  to  him,  and  cocked  an  eye  to  one  side. 

"He  don't  seem  to  be  losing  any,"  he  said 
in  a  high  wavering  voice,  nodding  his  head 
toward  Brassy. 

"Sometimes  he  does,"  returned  Clem  profes 
sionally,  showing  the  tips  of  a  handful  of  bills. 
"Depends  on  your  luck." 

The  dry- faced  man  cocked  the  eye  still 
farther  to  one  side  until  it  shot  up  over  Clem, 
but  was  at  the  same  time  able  to  get  his  ex 
pression. 

'  'Pears  to  me  that  you  be  winnin'  right 
well." 


"No  reason  to  kick.  Now's  a  good  time  to 
get  in  while  there  ain't  such  a  jam." 

The  man  with  his  hand  in  his  pocket  studied 
the  weather  gravely  a  moment,  then  swung  his 
eye,  like  a  great  search-light  around  to  Clem. 
"Yes,  you  seem  to  be  winnin'  remarkable  well. 
Fact  is  some  of  the  boys  allowed  they  see  you 
get  off  the  circus  train  this  mornin'." 

A  hot  blast  burst  over  Clem,  and  red  rushed 
to  his  face.  He  must  warn  Brassy.  Worming 
up  behind  him  Clem  touched  Brassy's  elbow 
and  jerked  his  head  toward  the  dark  circle 
that  kept  trying  to  smother  out  the  gasoline 
torches. 

Brassy  drew  down  his  brows  in  anger  but 
Clem  gave  a  more  vigorous  nod  toward  the 
night  circle.  Bitterly  Brassy  dropped  the  shells 
into  his  pocket  and  folded  up  his  table.  A 
thin  dry  hand  dropped  on  his  shoulder  and  a 
thin  dry  face  appeared  out  of  the  darkness. 

"Might  I  trouble  you  for  jest  a  moment? 
Have  you  any  objection  to  showin'  the  law 
your  license  for  conductin',  runnin'  or  over- 


SHORTCAKE  147. 

seein*  games  of  chance,  hazards  or  lotteries  in 
Henry  County,  State  of  Missouri?" 

Brassy  faced  the  thin  man  and  carefully 
tucked  away  the  bills.  By  the  time  the  last 
bill  was  out  of  sight  he  was  his  voluble  self. 
"Certainly  not,  my  good  friend.  Always  glad 
to  accommodate.  Can't  we  retire  for  a  few 
moments  and  talk  this  over  in  private  ?" 

"If  you  hain't  got  it  the  discussion  won't 
last  very  long." 

"Certainly  not,  certainly  not.  I  wouldn't 
take  up  your  time  for  anything.  It's  such  a 
hot  evening,  couldn't  we  go  into  the  drug  store 
and  get  a  little  something  to  liven  the  inner 
man  before  we  go  into  details?" 

"Business  before  pleasure,"  cut  in  the  high 
voice.  Turning  suddenly  he  laid  a  hand  on 
Clem  and  drew  the  two  into  the  office  of  the 
livery  stable  and  closed  the  door.  Throwing 
back  his  coat  he  showed  his  star.  It  was  a 
big  sterling  silver  one  with  engraving  on  it. 
The  officer  tapped  it  proudly.  "I  guess  you 
know  what  that  means." 


148  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

Brassy  began  running  through  his  pockets 
for  the  pretended  license  while  the  officer,  his 
hands  folded  across  his  breast,  looked  coldly 
on.  "By  jooks !"  said  Brassy  at  last.  "I  guess 
I  was  thinking  about  the  last  place  we  played. 
I  told  the  twenty-four-hour  man  to  be  sure  to 
get  a  license  here  as  I  didn't  want  the  good 
citizens  of  Henry  County  to  feel  that  I  wasn't 
giving  them  a  square  deal.  He's  clear  forgot 
that,  he  has,  and  I'm  going  to  give  him  a 
piece  of  my  mind,  I  am,  for  I  know  how  it 
makes  you  people  of  Harrison  feel."  Brassy 
was  master  of  himself  again.  "Do  you  know 
I  always  like  Harrison.  Fine  city.  I've  often 
thought  I'd  like  to  bring  my  wife  and  family 
here  and  settle  down  in  a  little  vine-clad  cot 
tage  with  a  silky  haired  cat  curled  up  asleep  on 
the  front  porch.  It's  surprising  how  well 
known  Harrison  is :  from  one  end  of  the  state 
to  the  other.  It's  the  first  city  they  ask  about — 
Harrison  is.  It  don't  seem  more  than  yester 
day  when  I  used  to  go  along  here  and  the 
engine  wouldn't  think  to  whistle  till  it  got  al 
most  past.  I  remember  one  day  the  manager 


SHORTCAKE  149 

of  the  circus  and  I  was  sittin'  in  our  private 
car  and  was  passing  here  when  he  said  some 
thing  that  I  nearly  split  myself  laughing  over. 
Jim  could  always  say  the  splittingest  things! 
Poor  man,  he's  gone  to  his  reward  now.  Well, 
Jim  says,  'When  there's  a  freight  train  backed 
up  on  the  siding  here  you  can't  see  Harrison 
at  all !'  Wasn't  that  good  ?  Don't  seem  more 
'an  last  week  and  now  look  at  Harrison — a 
reg'lar  metropolis  and  known  from  one  end  of 
the  state  to  the  other !" 

The  officer's  arms  slipped  down  and  the  stiff 
ness  dropped  out  of  his  back.  "Yes,  I  guess 
that's  right." 

"Sure  it  is.  And  lots  of  people  out  of  the 
state  asking  about  it.  Do  you  happen  to  have 
any  property  you'd  like  to  sell — a  house  with 
vines  on  it  and  a  cat  on  the  front  porch?" 

The  constable  walked  over  and  sat  down  on 
a  soap-box.  "No,  I  hain't,  but  my  brother-in- 
law  has  a  fine  place  with  a  south  front  and  a 
young  orchard.  It  don't  take  vines  no  time 
to  grow." 

"No,  it  don't,"  said  Brassy  reflectively.  "I 


150  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

suppose  if  I  put  'em  in  right  away  they'd  be  up 
by  next  season.  Has  he  got  any  honeysuckle  ?" 

"A  whole  clump  of  it."  The  officer  was  en 
thusiastic.  "It  was  my  brother-in-law's  wife's 
favorite  flower.  She  used  always  pour  the 
wash  water  on  it — suds  and  all — and  it 
growed  like  a  sunflower." 

"Do  the  children  stop  in  on  the  way  home 
from  school  and  pop  'em  on  their  foreheads  ?" 

"Every  night — the  yard's  jes'  full  of  'em 
all  poppin'  away  hard  as  they  can  and  laughin' 
fit  to  hurt  themselves." 

"And  do  the  htimmin'-birds  come  and  get  in 
'em,  their  wings  churning  up  the  yellow  blos 
soms  till  they  look  like  egg-beaters?" 

"Yes,  jes'  as  quick  as  the  children  get  away 
the  hummin'-birds  flock  up  and — 

The  catch  on  the  door  rattled  and  a  high 
brown  straw  hat,  perched  on  a  mound  of 
beard,  appeared.  Washed-out  blue  eyes  winked 
and  in  came  a  long  black  alpaca  coat.  "I  see 
you  got  'em,  Gib.  Bring  'em  right  over  to  my 
office  and  we'll  get  it  over  with."  It  was  the 
judge. 


SHORTCAKE  151 

The  constable  arose  and  wound  his  hands 
together  as  though  he  was  screwing  up  his 
courage.  "I  been  talkin'  to  'em,  Jedge,  and 
I  ain't  so  sure  they  air  guilty." 

"I  saw  them  with  my  own  eyes,  Gib— guilty 
as  sheep-killin'  dogs.  Bring  them  up  to  my 
office,  and  we'll  make  an  example  of  'em." 

Slowly  and  with  marked  hesitation  the  con 
stable  followed  the  judge  with  his  two  prison 
ers  up  a  narrow  flight  of  tobacco-spattered 
stairs.  Judge  Goodpasture  lowered  himself 
into  his  swivel  chair  and  motioned  the  two 
accused  to  a  wooden  bench  against  the  wall. 

Judge  Goodpasture  dipped  his  pen,  glanced 
at  the  calendar  and  scratched  a  word.  Then 
he  scoured  the  rusty  point  on  his  thumb  and 
dipped  again. 

"The  court  of  Justice  Goodpasture,  Division 
7,  Henry  County,  State  of  Missouri,  is  now  in 
session.  What  are  they  guilty  of,  Gib  ?" 

"I  ain't  so  sure  they  air  guilty,  Jedge.  They 
seem  to  have  lost  their  license,  and  I  believe 
I'd  go  kinda  easy  on  'em,  Jedge." 

"No   license   was   taken   out,   and   besides 


152  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

I've  heard  that  before.     What's  your  name?" 

"Mr.  John  Simpson  Hagan." 

"We  can  get  along  without  the  Mister,"  re 
proved  the  judge.  "Any  occupation?" 

"Traveling  salesman." 

"What's  your  name  and  business?"  turning 
to  Clem. 

"Clement  Pointer  and  I  used  to  be  in  the 
grocery  business." 

"Better  stuck  to  it.  Was  you  two  men  play 
ing,  takin'  part  in  or  participatin'  in  game  or 
games  of  chance  in  Henry  County,  State  of 
Missouri?" 

"It's  this  way,  Your  Honor,"  explained  Bras 
sy  in  his  most  confidential  and  persuasive  man 
ner;  "at  the  solicitation  of  several  of  the  boys 
I  was  prevailed  upon,  very  much  against  my 
wish,  to  demonstrate  the  blind  spot  in  the 
eye  by  placing  some  small  object,  part  or  par 
cel  under  three  walnut  shells,  shifting  them 
quickly  to  see  who  in  the  crowd  could  guess 
which  particular  shell  sheltered  the  object  of 
their  search.  It's  a  most  interesting  experi 
ment,  showing  that  the  hand  is  quicker  than 


u 


SHORTCAKE  153 

the  eye.  The  light  rays  falling  upon  the  optic 
axis,  or  as  it  is  commonly  called,  the  pupil  of 
the  eye,  filter  gradually  through,  losing  some 
of  their  intensity  thereby,  until  they  come  to 
the  corona,  or  as  we  say,  the  iris,  where  some 
more  of  them  are  lost,  so  that  by  the  time  they 
pass  through  the  anterior  scleroid  and  fall 
upon  the  brain  they  are  so  weak  and  diminished 
that  blind  spots  show  through.  Thus 
by  shifting  small  objects,  say  the  size 
of  walnuts,  one  of  them  gets  in  the 
blind  spot  and  fools  a  person  in  knowing 
what  movements  it  has  passed  through.  Science 
has  studied  the  human  eye  for  a  thousand 
years  and  still  it  doesn't  understand  it.  A  child 
can  ask  questions  about  it  to  baffle  the  greatest 
sage  of  all  times.  Did  you  ever  stop  to  think, 
Judge,  about  the  wonders  of  the  human  body? 
Do  you  even  know  where  your  eyebrows  come 
from?  Did  you  ever  stop  to  realize  and  to 
cogitate  upon  the  wonderful  mechanism  of  the 
human  foot?" 

Judge  Goodpasture  rapped  on  the  table  with 
his  corncob  pipe.    "Hold  up  there,"  he  warned, 


154  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

putting  up  a  slow  and  deliberate  hand.  "You'd 
been  better  off  if  you'd  done  more  cogitating 
on  the  gambling  laws  of  the  State  of  Missouri 
and  less  on  the  wonders  of  the  human  foot. 
Did  you  or  did  you  not  conduct,  carry  on  or 
participate  in  games  of  chance?" 

"You  see,  it  was  this  way,  Judge — " 

"Gib,  did  you  see  'em?" 

"Yes,"  he  admitted  reluctantly. 

"The  court  saw  'em  with  his  own  eyes,  too. 
You  two  men  are  herewith  and  hereby  fined 
one  hundred  dollars  and  sentenced  to  six  days 
in  jail.  Let  the  record  be  spread  on  the  books. 
How  much  money  have  they  got,  Gib  ?" 

Brassy's  cheeks  puffed  up  and  a  coating  of 
red  settled  over  his  face.  His  knuckles  resting 
on  the  table  trembled.  "This  is  outrageous," 
he  roared.  "It's—" 

The  judicial  hand  went  up  like  a  semaphore. 
"One  more  like  that  and  it'll  be  ten  dollars 
for  contempt  of  court.  Did  you  ever  stop  to 
realize  and  to  cogitate  upon  a  judge's  author 
ity?  How  much  coin  or  currency  do  you  find 
upon  their  person  or  persons,  Mr.  Constable?" 


SHORTCAKE  155 

Gib  was  bent  double  over  a  pile  of  bills,  peel 
ing  them  back  with  glistening  thumb,  bending 
lower  and  lower  as  the  count  grew  higher. 
"Stamps  don't  count,  do  they?"  he  asked  with 
out  looking  up. 

"Are  they  stuck  together?" 

"Yes." 

"No." 

"I  find,  Your  Honor,  they  have  one  hundred 
four  dollars  and  thirty  cents." 

The  pen  kicked  and  sputtered  across  the 
page.  Then  it  was  stuck  into  a  scarred  and 
ink-spattered  potato.  "Mr.  Constable,  I  com 
mand  these  prisoners  of  the  law  into  your  cus 
tody  and  order  the  same  to  jail  for  six  days. 
I  find  the  expenses  are  four  dollars  and  thirty 
cents.  Mr.  Constable,  the  prisoners  are  yours. 
The  court  stands  adjourned." 

Gathering  its  beard  into  its  hand,  catching 
it  up  as  though  putting  a  ribbon  around  a  lace 
curtain,  the  court  leaned  over  and  the  cuspidor 
splashed.  Fitting  on  the  brown  straw  rick 
Judge  Goodpasture  lowered  himself  down  the 
steps  and  into  the  night. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE    WORLD    BECKONS 

CLEM  was  strolling  through  hedge  lanes, 
piled  with  flowers,  blue  boats  scudding 
across  the  sky  and  yellow-breasted  larks  climb 
ing  up  the  clouds  and  scooting  down  to  the 
music  of  the  morning  wind  in  the  thistles, 
when  a  heavy  chain  rattled  and  an  iron  door 
clanked. 

"Here's  your  pork  and  beans,"  came  a  voice 
from  neither  above  nor  below. 

Slowly  things  came  jarring  back  to  reality. 
An  unfeeling  sharp-cornered  brick  was  stead 
ily  eating  its  way  through  Clem's  shoulder 
blades.  Clem  roused  and  threw  back  the  quilts ; 
a  double  of  the  blanket  had  become  turned 
under. 

A  round  face  fitted  itself  into  the  iron 
checker-board  of  Clem's  door.  "Up  and  make 
156 


THE  WORLD  BECKONS          157 

merry — the  larks  have  been  on  the  wing  this 
hour." 

Clem  propped  himself  on  one  elbow  and 
scowled.  "Where  are  we?" 

"Cafe  de  Goodpasture,  Henry  County,  State 
of  Missouri,  guilty  of  playing,  taking  part  and 
participating  in  game  or  games  of  chance." 

Clem  put  his  hand  to  his  head  as  if  to  brush 
it  all  away. 

"Can  you  sleep  here — on  that  junk  heap?" 

"Like  a  log.  You  can't  expect  Looie  de 
Quincy  beds  in  these  tank  towns.  This  is 
like  the  bridal  suite  at  the  Waldorf  Astoria 
to  the  last  place  they  got  me.  There  was  things 
in  my  bed  that  wasn't  paying  guests,  and  they 
just  gloated  over  a  nice  fat  stranger.  They 
took  to  me  right  at  once  and  the  next  morning 
I  looked  like  the  bottom  pole  of  a  rail  fence 
your  grandfather  laid.  In  the  circus  business 
you  can't  always  expect  a  bower  of  roses  and 
a  slave  to  fan  you  to  sleep  with  peacock 
feathers." 

From  a  tin  pan  in  the  corner,  Clem  splashed 
some  water  over  his  face,  studied  the  towel 


158  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

and  finally  chose  his  sleeve.  "Ain't  there  any 
thing  we  can  do?" 

"Sure  there  is,"  answered  Brassy  joyously. 
"Make  the  best  of  it.  Did  I  ever  tell  you 
about  the  time  I  got  pinched  in  Lebanon  and 
they  started  to  lynch  a  nigger  one  night  and 
the  nigger  got  out  and  how  they  thought  I 
helped  him  duck  and  came  at  me  with  a  dirty 
rope?  Yes,  everything  has  its  drawbacks." 

The  breakfast  was  waiting  in  the  chuck-hole. 

"I  hope  they  got  a  checker-board,"  said 
Brassy,  bending  over  a  plate  of  beans.  "Gets 
lonesome  toward  the  end  of  the  week  if  you 
ain't  anything  to  do  except  build  air  castles. 
It  don't  take  long  for  a  fellow  to  look  at  the 
pictures  on  the  walls.  Wasn't  the  jedge  a 
case?  An'  when  he  spit  you  could  hear  the 
river  wash.  If  I'd  had  a  minute  more  I'd 
got  him  with  that  line  of  bull.  I  wonder  what 
a  fellow  can  see  out  the  window  here — the 
Boston  Racket  Store  or  the  carving  yard  of 
the  Universal  Tombstone  and  Casket  Company 
• — prices  plainly  marked.  I  hope  you  don't 
snore." 


THE  WORLD  BECKONS          159 

Clem  caressed  his  shoulder.  "Not  on  these 
racks." 

A  chain  rattled,  a  hinge  screaked  and  the 
constable  stood  before  them.  "Good  mornin', 
Mr.  Hagan,"  and  a  nod  to  Clem  finished  the 
saluation»  "I  hope  you  slept  well;  I'll  try  to 
get  another  quilt  for  you  as  I  guess  these 
are  gettin'  kind  of  thin  mebbe  along  in  the 
mornin'.  Have  you  thought  any  more  about 
the  matter  we  was  discussin'  last  evenin',  Mr. 
Hagan?" 

"What  was  that?"  asked  Brassy,  puzzled. 

"About  the  vines  crawlin'  up  the  porch  and 
the  cat  asleep  in  the  sun.  I  used  my  influence 
with  Jedge  Goodpasture  or  it  might  'a'  been — " 

"Yes,"  snapped  Brassy,  "but  since  my  stay 
here  I  have  observed  drawbacks  to  this  city 
that  I  had  never  noticed  before.  The  climatic 
conditions  are  not  all  what  I  had  hoped  for 
and  my  eagerness  for  cats  has  somewhat  abated 
since  yours  kept  me  awake  so  last  night,  spring 
ing  on  perfectly  harmless  mice  that  couldn't 
possibly  scale  an  iron  wall  and  gulping  them 
down  whole.  Last  night  while  I  was  listening 


160  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

to  the  city  feline  crushing  the  bones  of  one  of 
those  innocent  creatures  I  couldn't  help  think 
ing  about  how  much  work  it  is  to  keep  up  a 
full-grown  honeysuckle  bush.  And  what  if  one 
of  those  humming-birds  should  dart  at  me 
and  stick  me  in  the  eye  with  its  needle  bill? 
Just  one  peck  and  my  eyesight'd  be  gone — 
ruined  forever — and  I'd  be  a  poor  blind  man 
being  led  around  on  the  street  by  a  dog.  No, 
Mr.  Constable,  my  enthusiasm  has  abated 
since  our  talk  last  evening  and  I  would  have 
to  consider  long  and  seriously  before  investing 
in  property  in  this  hamlet.  Have  you  any 
light  summer  reading  that  would  serve  to  get 
a  person's  mind  off  last  night's  fatalities?" 

The  constable  disappeared  to  return  in  a  few 
moments  with  a  blue  almanac,  the  cover  of 
which  showed  a  man  who  had  undergone  a 
major  abdominal  operation  and  whose  physi 
cians  had  suddenly  retired  without  dressing  the 
wound. 

"Oh,  horrors,"  exclaimed  Brassy,  pushing 
back  the  weather  book,  "if  this  is  light  sum- 


THE  WORLD  BECKONS          161 

mer  reading  please  don't  bring  on  your  trage 
dies!  Who  is  this  Mr.  Zodiac?  And  what 
are  all  these  crabs  and  scorpions  crawling  up 
on  the  poor  wounded  man  ?  I  never  in  my  life 
saw  a  man  with  his  contents  so  shamelessly 
displayed,  nor  did  I  ever  see  such  a  care-free 
expression  on  the  face  of  an  individual  as 
Mr.  Aries  T.  Zodiac  has  on  his.  The  hardened 
creature  actually  seems  to  delight  in  his  dis 
habille,  not  giving  a  whoop  whether  there  are 
any  ladies  around  or  not.  He  has  the  flaps 
turned  back  as  if  inviting  the  world  to  come 
up  and  make  merry,  while  the  doctors  have 
stepped  into  the  workroom  to  get  a  sponge  and 
a  wrench.  His  face  gives  me  the  jimjams: 
there  is  a  far-away  look  on  it  as  if  he  was 
trying  to  figure  out  just  how  long  it  would 
take  a  freight  train,  loaded  with  cantaloupes, 
running  a  mile  a  minute  night  and  day,  year 
in  year  out,  Fourth  of  Julys  and  holidays,  start 
ing  on  the  earth  to  make  it  to  the  sun,  barring 
accidents,  while  he'd  a  lot  better  be  putting  on 
his  clothes. 


162  .WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

"My  poor  nerves  are  unstrung  with  them 
crunched  bones  ringing  in  my  ears  all  night 
and  the  first  thing  I  see  this  morning,  is  a  man 
all  cut  up  with  a  lot  of  wriggly  things  slowly 
but  surely  closing  in  on  him.  Ain't  you  some 
thing  cheerful  like  Simon  Legree?" 

The  constable  backed  out  like  a  crab.  "Here's 
the  Harrison  Hea,dlight.  It's  just  off  the  press 
— kind  of  smelly  yet." 

Brassy  shook  the  paper  open  and  ran  his 
eye  down  a  column.  "Just  listen  to  this,"  he 
exclaimed.  "  'Newt  Duffy,  a  prominent  agri 
culturist  of  Polk  Township,  brought  in  a  fine 
load  of  hogs  one  day  last  week.'  Can't  you 
just  see  him  settin'  on  the  wagon  seat,  reach 
ing  over  now  and  then  to  put  on  the  brake, 
with  a  leather  vest  on,  greasy  as  a 
smoke-house  floor,  riding  to  town  as  proud  as 
a  Lord  Chamberlain  while  his  poor  wife's  at 
home  slaving  away?  He  routs  her  out  long 
before  daylight  and  makes  her  fry  him  some 
mush  and  heat  up  the  hominy  and  he  goes  gaily 
to  town,  gets  the  money  on  the  hogs  the  boys 


THE  WORLD  BECKONS         163 

raised,  buys  the  best  five-cent  cigar  in  the 
Square  Deal  Grocery  Store,  gets  his  name  in 
the  paper  and  goes  home  without  getting  his 
wife  even  a  calendar,  and  then  jumps  on  her 
for  making  him  eat  side-meat  all  summer. 
Can't  you  just  see  the  kind  of  a  man  this  Mr. 
Duffy  is?  He  cusses  the  boys  out  of  bed  be 
fore  you  can  see  the  hen-house,  sends  them  out 
to  do  the  milking  and  the  chores  while  he 
leans  back  in  the  rocker,  and  reads  about  him 
self  in  the  paper,  raising  the  best  hogs  in  Polk 
Township  and  hell  with  his  fam'ly.  His  wife 
calls  him  'Newton'  and  he  says,  'Hey,  there!' 
and  when  one  of  the  boys  hitches  up  and  takes 
his  mother  to  town  Saturday  she  has  to  ask 
her  husband  for  a  dollar  to  get  a  new  dress, 
and  she's  give  him  the  egg  money  to  buy  spring 
calves.  I'm  glad  that  I,  a  gentleman  with  an 
honorable  calling  and  ideals,  am  not  forced  to 
reside  in  a  community  so  overrun  with  things 
— I  will  not  dignify  them  with  the  name  of 
men —  like  this  Newt  Duffy.  If  I  had  known 
this  kind  of  people  was  around  Harrison  we 


1 64  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

wouldn't  had  such  a  long  and  useless  discus 
sion  about  honeysuckles  last — " 

Brassy's  face  sobered;  the  rest  of  his  sen 
tence  ran  off  into  a  mumble.  The  constable 
backed  out  of  the  room.  Brassy's  eyes  slow 
ly  traveled  down  the  column,  then  he  folded 
the  paper  and  put  it  in  his  inside  pocket.  He 
studied  a  dancing  girl,  chalked  on  the  wall, 
standing  on  one  foot,  then  turned  to  Clem: 

"Would  you  mind  letting  me  see  your  left 
hand  a  moment?" 

Clem  held  it  out. 

Brassy  gave  one  glance  at  it  and  then  turned 
to  study  the  kicking  creature  for  a  moment. 

"You  never  told  me  why  you  left  Curry- 
ville,  did  you?" 

Clem's  face  ran  red,  to  give  up  in  a  moment 
to  a  ghastly  white.  Finally  his  voice  came 
out  in  a  thin  thread :  "I  just  got  tired  of  never 
seeing  anybody  new  and  not  knowing  anything 
about  the  world.  And  every  place  except  back 
there  things  are  happenin'." 

Brassy  turned  open  the  paper  to  a  head-line 
and  pointed : 


THE  WORLD  BECKONS         165 

MURDER  IN  CURRYVILLE,  MO. 

C    L.    POINTER   DISAPPEARED — HOUNDS   ON 

THE  TRAIL — $500.00  FOR  RETURN 

OF  BODY  DEAD  OR  ALIVE. 

Smaller  type  heralded  the  details  with  more 
or  less  accuracy,  with  the  preponderance  of 
evidence  in  favor  of  less,  outlining  motives  and 
counter-motives  for  the  crime,  containing  the 
description  of  C.  L.  Pointer  and  closing  with 
the  whet  that  next  week's  paper  would  give 
fuller  and  more  horrible  details. 

Brassy  pointed  to  the  line  describing  the 
mole  on  the  inside  of  the  missing  man's  thumb. 
"That's  why  I  asked  to  see  your  hand,"  he 
said  simply. 

Clem  weakley  settled  down  on  the  soap-box. 

"Do  you  know  you  are  worth  five  hundred 
dollars?"  asked  Brassy  suddenly. 

Clem  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

"Five  hundred  dollars  is  a  lot  of  money," 
said  Brassy  slowly;  "dead  or  alive." 

Clem  lifted  his  head  quickly.     He  started  to 


166  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

rise  but  dropped  back.  "You  ain't  goin'  to — 
to—" 

"Yes,  I  am.  I'm  going  to  get  you  out  of 
here  so  that  you  can  go  back  by  yourself." 

Clem  sprang  up.  "What  do  you  mean?" 
he  said. 

"This,"  returned  Brassy,  pointing  to  a  comb 
swinging  to  the  wall  by  a  sickly  brass  chain. 

Clem  put  his  hand  to  his  thin  locks  and 
shook  his  head  dumbly. 

"Don't  you  see  it's  steel  lined?" 

"Yes,  I  guess  I  do." 

"Pull  out  the  teeth  and  it's  a  fine  saw.  Saw 
one  of  them  bars  in  two,  twist  it  over  and  we 
can  slide  out  slick  as  sausage.  I'll  work  the 
saw  and  when  you  hear  the  chain  rattle,  sing 
or  have  a  hemorrhage." 

Brassy  braced  himself  on  the  soap-box  and 
the  saw  began  to  gnaw  its  way  through  the 
bar.  Turn  about  they  worked,  hastily  soaping 
over  the  iron  wound  when  the  door  rattled. 
When  the  comb  was  gone,  Brassy  tore  off  the 
comb-rack  on  the  tin  mirror,  flattened  it  under 
his  heel  and  sawed  steadily  on.  Clem,  with 


Clem    set    up    a    song   whenever   a    footstep    sounded    outside 


THE  WORLD  BECKONS         167 

his  ear  to  the  iron  door,  set  up  a  song  when 
ever  a  footstep  sounded  outside. 

"Don't  you  believe,"  asked  Clem  after  sup 
per  the  second  day,  "that  the  constable'll  think 
we  are  enjoyin'  our  imprisonment  too  much, 
and  suspect  something?" 

"Him?"  returned  Brassy  contemptuously. 
"He  hain't  suspected  anything  since  the  grass 
hoppers." 

When  the  shadows  crept  in  filling  the  cells 
with  blocks  of  black,  the  constable  came  in, 
held  up  a  knee,  perching  on  the  other  leg  like 
a  faded  flamingo  and  ripped  a  match  down  his 
thigh.  A  line  of  light  leaped  along  his  leg, 
but  as  the  point  of  fire  in  his  fingers  grew  into 
a  blaze  the  line  died  away.  Balancing  on  the 
soap-box  he  held  up  the  curling  match  and  the 
oil  lamp  clinging  to  the  wall  shouldered  the 
illuminative  responsibility. 

"Speaking  of  light,"  the  officer  put  in,  "Har 
rison  is  one  of  the  best  lit  cities  you  can  find 
anywhere.  It's  a  great  convenience  where  you 
have  women-folks  and  children  in  the  family. 
Have  you  any  children,  Mr.  Hagan?" 


1 68  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

"Yes,  one,  but  by  jooks!  as  long  as  I  stay 
in  out  of  the  sun  and  business  goes  on  the 
same  as  usual  at  the  old  belfry,  I'll  never  bring 
her  to  this  civic  blot  on  Missouri's  map  of 
pride.  I  hain't  seen  her  now  for  years  and  it's 
my  fault,  too,"  he  added  bitterly.  "She's 
ashamed  of  her  father  and  she  left  home  be 
cause  her  mother  still  had  a  thread  of  hope 
left  that  I  would  turn  out  all  right.  She  was 
the  breath  of  the  morning  and  had  a  hug  as 
tender  as  a  moonbeam  in  a  cow  track.  When 
I  was  the  supply  man  with  the  circus  she  would 
put  her  fat  little  arms  around  my  neck  and 
say,  'Pa-daddy' — that's  what  she  always  called 
me — 'Pa-daddy,  when  I  grow  big  can't  I  go 
with  you  and  be  the  lady  lion  tamer  ?  Then  we 
can  always  be  relation.'  Innocent  as  a  lamb 
on  white  clover,  that's  what  she  was.  But 
when  I  got  to  shifting  the  shells  and — and  the 
rest  of  it — well,  I  hain't  seen  her  since." 

Brassy's  voice  trailed  off  into  reflection,  and 
Gib,  awed  by  the  change  in  his  manner,  backed 
out. 

Brassy  dreamed  away  for  several  minutes. 


THE  WORLD  BECKONS          169 

Even  though  the  lamp  cast  a  caricature  of  him 
on  the  floor,  twisting  his  head  into  a  startling 
resemblance  to  a  bag  of  potatoes  half  slouched 
over,  it  wasn't  funny ;  instead  the  softened  lines 
made  one's  heart  go  out  to  him.  "By  jooks !" 
he  mused,  feeling  for  the  tin  saw  under  the 
mattress,  "she  would,  too — she  had  nerve 
enough  for  anything." 

Arising,  he  drew  the  soap-box  up  to  the  wall 
and  went  to  work  without  a  word.  Back  and 
forth  he  drew  the  wedge  of  tin,  blowing  the 
filings  into  the  night.  At  last  Brassy  handed 
Clem  the  tin  blade,  and  bracing  his  knee 
against  the  wall,  gave  the  bar  a  tug.  Slowly 
the  bar  bent,  like  a  candle  before  the  fire,  and 
at  last  parted.  Brassy  twisted  the  spikes  over, 
and  turned  around  with  radiant  smile,  the  per 
spiration  standing  on  his  forehead. 

"The  world  awaits,"  panted  Brassy  happi 
ly.  "Why  tarry  here,  Sir  Galahad,  when  the 
world  beckons  without?  No  doubt  Gib  will 
miss  us  when  we're  gone,  but  such  is  the 
sadness  of  life — the  best  of  friends  must  part." 

"How  do   we  know   when   we  can   get   a 


WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 


train?"  asked  Clem,  hesitating  before  the  final 
plunge. 

"Easy,  easy.  Wilst  kindly  give  your  atten 
tion  to  this  clipping  torn  from  the  scrivener's 
paper  that  Gib,  the  constable,  gave  me?  In 
thirty-one  minutes  a  passenger  goes  through  — 
and  the  blind  baggage  often  carries  guests  who 
were  not  escorted  on  by  the  porter  with  his 
footstool.  We'll  just  have  time  to  make  it 
and  how  provoked  Gib,  the  biceps  of  the  law, 
will  feel  when  he  comes  and  finds  that  the  jail 
birds  have  flown!  He  might  even  be  moved 
to  'Pshaw!  pshaw!'  twice  in  rapid  succession, 
just  like1  that."  Brassy  reached  under  the 
lining  of  his  trousers,  and  unfastened  a  safety- 
pin.  "Here's  a  couple  of  bills  —  it's  my  safe 
deposit  when  the  bulls  frisk  me.  You  take  one 
and  I'll  take  one  in  case  we  get  lost  from  each 
other.  Now  you  for  Curryville  !" 

Clem,  with  his  back  to  the  cell,  fitted  his  el 
bows  between  the  bars  and  dropped  his  head 
in  thought.  "All  right,"  he  said  finally. 

Brassy  grew  silent,  so  quiet  that  the  shrink- 


THE  WORLD  BECKONS         171 

ing  of  the  iron  after  the  day's  heat  could 
be  heard. 

"I'm  going  home,  too.  Maybe  I  can  go 
back  in  the  hog  medicine  business." 

Again  Brassy  was  silent,  the  lamp  throwing 
heavy  lines  on  his  face,  giving  him  a  touch  of 
sadness  that  Clem  had  not  believed  possible 
before. 

Brassy  came  out  of  the  reverie  with  a  long 
breath.  "This  ain't  gettin*  the  quinine  took. 
You  first  and  wait  for  me  out  behind  the  hitch- 
racks.  Here,  on  my  shoulder!  Feet  first, 
my  lord,  feet  first !  When  you  get  through  the 
hole,  hang  by  your  fingers,  face  to  the  wall, 
but  when  you  drop  whirl  so  that  you  light  back 
to  the  wall  or  you'll  butt  into  the  bricks.  Don't 
mind  the  buttons !  Be  careful  not  to  get  your 
clothes  hooked  on  a  spike  and  watch — " 

Brassy  seized  Clem  by  the  ankle  in  a  warn 
ing  grip. 

A  step  sounded  on  the  hollow  wooden  floor 
outside.  The  chain  rattled. 

Brassy   released    his    hand.      "Jump!"    he 


.WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 


whispered  hoarsely.  "He's  (  on.  Jump  and 
run  like  hell  —  you'll  just  about  make  it." 

"I  ain't  going  without  you,"  returned  Clem. 

"I  got  you  into  this  —  and  I'm  going  to  get 
you  out.  I'll  hold  him.  Beat  it  !" 

Clem's  red  and  stained  face  disappeared  into 
the  black  cut  in  the  wall.  His  fingers  held  on 
to  the  brick  ledge  a  moment,  then  he  dropped 
into  the  night.  A  soft  thud  outside  told  the 
story. 

The  door  complained  on  its  hinges  and  a 
high  voice  sang  out:  "What  you  got  that 
lamp  goin'  for?" 

Shaking  the  iron  cot  as  though  just  rolling 
out,  Brassy  stepped  around  the  cage  to  the 
door  and  putting  one  sleepy  arm  over  his  head 
said,  "I  beg  your  pardon,  but  I  didn't  get  the 
drift  of  your  remark." 

"What's  that  lamp  lit  for?" 

"Oh,  you  mean  that  white  beam  on  the  wall  ! 
It  is  lit,  ain't  it?  Careless  of  it  to  get  that 
way.  Do  you  have  insomnia,  too?" 

"My  daughter  saw  this  light  and  I  want 


THE  WORLD  BECKONS         173 

to  know  what's  the  matter,"  snapped  the  offi 
cer,  pushing  the  door  in  Brassy's  face. 

"I  shirk  from  telling  you,"  replied  Brassy 
easily.  "I  would  fain  not  mention  it  to  a  sensi 
tive  man  like  yourself,  but  if  you  insist  on 
knowing  the  bare  bald  truth  I  will  have  to 
harden  my  feelings  and  spit  it  out.  We  had 
to  do  it  for  self -protection.  We  retired  early 
and  were  soon  in  the  land  of  cotton  when  a 
great  beast  of  prey  came  slipping  out  of  the 
reeds  and  bulrushes,  stood  a  moment  with  up 
lifted  paw  and  then  sprang  into  our  midst.  We 
leaped  horrified  to  our  feet — see,  like  this !  It 
was  the  cat,  striking  down  one  of  the  innocent 
rodents  gambolin'  in  the  corner,  springing  on 
her  like  a  dread  demon,  getting  the  poor 
mother  by  the  neck  and  rending  her  limb  from 
limb,  bone  from  bone,  snuffing  out  her  life  in 
the  twinklin'  of  an  eye.  Then  the  foul  fiend 
retired  to  the  middle  of  the  floor  and  slowly 
and  disgustingly  et  the  mother  while  the  be 
reaved  children  stuck  their  noses  out  the  holes 
and  sobbed  their  hearts  away.  It  was  sicken- 


174  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

ing.  Unable  to  bear  the  lonesome  wailing  of 
the  bereft  children,  we  lit  the  lamp  so  that  the 
poor  little  orphans  wouldn't  venture  out  and 
into  the  jaws  of  death.  If  you'll  remove  the 
heartless  beast,  Mr.  Pointer  and  I'll  be  glad  to 
dispense  with  the  smoking  wick." 

"What  was  you  lookin'  out  the  window 
for?"  demanded  the  constable. 

"Trying  to  get  my  eyes  off  the  horrible 
sight.  The  slaughter  and  sight  of  blood  fas 
cinated  me.  I  would  shut  my  eyes  and  try 
to  turn  them  away,  but  slowly  they  would 
swing  back  to  the  ghastly  scene,  and  to  get 
them  off  the  carnage  I  had  to  stand  up  and 
look  out  the  window.  Won't  you  please  take 
that  beast  out?" 

"What  was  them  sounds  I  heard?"  stepping 
inside,  while  his  daughter  dropped  the  bolt. 

"Mr.  Pointer  and  me  weeping.  Poor  man, 
he'll  never  be  the  same  again." 

"Where  is  he?" 

"He  just  couldn't  stand  it  any  longer," 
sobbed  Brassy,  drawing  a  hand  across  his 
eyes.  "He  had  to  leave." 


THE  WORLD  BECKONS         175 

"Got  out?"  cried  the  constable.    "How?" 

Stepping  forward,  the  constable's  eyes  fell 
on  the  twisted  bars. 

"How  long  ago?" 

"That's  purty  hard  to  tell.  To  me,  without 
the  presence  of  his  company  and  locked  up 
alone  with  that  feline  murderer,  it  seems  like 
ages,  but  no  doubt  it's  shorter.  To  Mr. 
Pointer,  doubtlessly  the  time  has  flew  by.  Did 
you  want  to  see  him  about  anything  particu 
lar?" 

Rushing  to  the  door  the  constable  called 
to  his  daughter: 

"Grace,  Grace,  telephone  to  the  depot  that 
one  of  the  men  has  got  out.  Hurry!" 

"Will  you  pardon  me  a  moment,  Mr.  Con 
stable,  but  the  train  has  been  gone  just  about 
two  minutes.  I  guess  mail'll  be  forwarded  to 
him,  though,  if  you  wished  to  communicate 
with  him." 

The  constable's  dry  face  hardened  and  stiff 
ened  under  his  anger,  freezing  like  a  fresh 
hide  in  the  snow.  His  lips  broke  straight  across 
as  though  the  hide  had  been  twisted  in  the 


1 76  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

winter  weather.    All  his  rage  burst  through  the 
slit  in  one  big  snapping  sentence : 

"You're  a  skunk,  that's  what  you  are." 
Brassy  drew  over  nearer  and  when  he  spoke 
it  was  soothingly,  an  older  man  counseling  a 
wayward  youth: 

"I  fear  me  that  you  have  spoken  hastily, 
without  weighing  your  words.  Quick  words 
have  kept  more  people  tossing  on  a  midnight 
mattress  than  all  the  fever  in  the  land.  I 
know  how  a  person  whose  tongue  has  taken 
the  bit  between  its  teeth  has  said  things  that  he 
has  repented  with  an  ache  in  his  heart  that 
seemed  to  be  tearing  the  vitals  out  of  him.  The 
tongue  is  an  unruly  member  that  must  be 
handled  with  a  mailed  hand.  When  your 
tongue  has  been  threshing  at  your  teeth  to  get 
out  and  run  amuck,  have  you  ever  tried  the 
old,  old  plan  of  counting  ten?  Simple,  almost 
childish  as  it  seems,  this  plan  has  saved  many 
a  heartache.  It  stabs  me  through  and  through 
to  think  that  you  would  even  intimate  that  I 
had  the  slightest  resemblance  to  that  uncouth 


THE  WORLD  BECKONS         177 

member  of  the  weasel  family  who,  when  cross 
ed,  makes  himself  so  obnoxious  and  distasteful 
to  everything  and  everybody  around  him.  I 
feel  sure  that,  when  in  a  calmer  moment,  you 
reconsider  your  allegation,  you  will  humbly  re 
pent  your  hasty  words  and  be  willing  to  bite 
your  tongue  out  for  letting  it  get  the  upper 
hand  of  you." 

"Pa,"  came  a  girl's  voice  from  the  other 
side,  "the  train's  gone." 

"Probably  Mr.  Pointer  left  word  with  the 
station  agent  for  you,"  said  Brassy  thought 
fully. 

"Shet  up!"  snapped  the  arm  of  the  law. 
"We'll  telegraph  ahead  and  get  him.  Any 
way,  I'll  see  that  you  don't  get  out." 

His  heels  clicked  spitefully,  and  an  hour 
later  when  Brassy  peeped  out  of  the  barred 
window  the  representative  of  peace  and  jus 
tice  was  propped  in  a  chair,  leaning  back 
against  a  maple,  a  murderous-looking  shotgun 
across  his  knees. 

"Hey,  there,    Mr.    Constable,"    called    out 


i;8  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

Brassy,  framing  his  face  between  the  bars, 
"don't  point  that  thing  this  way — it  might  go 
off." 

The  officer  raised  the  gun  threateningly  and 
the  face  in  the  frame  disappeared  like  Punch 
in  a  marionette  show. 

The  officer's  head  dropped  back  against  the 
bole  of  the  tree,  and  he  was  slowly  settling 
himself  to  rest,  when  a  wild,  scratching,  claw 
ing,  four-footed  creature  shot  out  of  the  win 
dow,  dropped  spitting  into  his  lap,  gathered  its 
claws  painfully  in  Gib's  trousers  and  leaped 
away,  snarling  insult. 


CHAPTER  XI 

HOME  SWEET    HOME 

WHEN  a  freight  train  jarred  into  Curry- 
ville  a  couple  of  nights  later,  the  cars 
crowding  one  another,  surging  forward  and 
falling  spitefully  back,  like  cattle  in  the  yards, 
no  one  saw  a  worn  man  with  face  much  lined 
at  the  eyes  lift  the  trap-door  and  crawl  out 
of  a  car  of  baled  hay.  Lowering  himself  down 
the  iron  steps,  he  slipped  behind  a  coal  bunker 
and  waited  until  a  man  with  a  long-billed  cap 
had  given  the  engine  a  drink  and  the  cars  be 
gan  to  creep  forward,  as  if  trying  to  slip  up 
on  a  foe,  the  line  of  the  station  rising  and  fall 
ing  as  the  cars  rolled  by. 

While  the  two  green  lights  were  melting 

into  the  night,  the  man  slipped  across  the 

tracks  and  started  up-town,   keeping  to   the 

side  streets  and  the  shadows.    The  McElravys 

179 


i8o  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

still  had  their  washing  out — why  couldn't  she 
ever  get  it  done  on  Monday  as  a  person  should  ? 
Good-natured,  though,  every  one  of  them,  and 
Bob,  who  began  by  "sweeping  out"  and  stick 
ing  to  it  with  a  smile  every  day  in  the  year, 
would  own  the  Owl  Drug  Store  some  day. 

Oh,  the  Kipps  were  painting  their  house! 
The  very  house  he'd  planned  and  built.  But 
that  isn't  the  color  for  it;  after  all,  there's  no 
color  like  a  dignified  white.  It  was  the  doings 
of  Bertha  Kipp  who'd  been  away  to  boarding- 
school.  Bet  she'll  marry  some  scalawag  from 
Kansas  City  who  wears  pearl  buttons  on  his 
shoes  and  enlarges  photographs.  Bob  Mc- 
Elravy  was  too  good  for  her,  he  was.  And 
he  used  to  carry  her  books  home  from  school 
and  licked  the  stuffing  out  of  that  Rouse  boy 
because  he  said  she  had  red  hair.  What's  get 
ting  into  the  young  people  nowadays? — they 
never  know  who's  meant  for  them  any  more. 

There's  Mrs.  Upshear  sitting  in  the  window 
writing  like  she  always  is,  keeping  a  diary, 
thinking  that  her  husband '11  come  back  some 
day.  Come  back  some  day  in  spite  of  what 


HOME  SWEET  HOME  181 

they  all  say,  and  she  couldn't  never  remember 
everything  to  tell  him,  and  maybe  if  he  came 
back  too  late — sitting  there  with  the  shawl 
around  her  and  everybody  else  fanning — he'd 
find  the  diary  and  understand.  If  the  cherries 
weren't  all  gone  he  must  send  over  a  bucketful. 
She'd  take  them  in  her  thin  trembling  hands, 
thank  him  soft  like  and  look  around  the  bare 
room  for  something  to  give  him;  then  beg 
him  to  sit  down  and  rest  a  while,  and  pinching 
her  old  faded  skirt  between  her  fingers,  lead  up 
to  it  so  she  could  ask  if  he  thought  William 
would  be  back  before  the  Yellow  Grimes  were 
all  gone?  You  know  it's  fourteen  years,  just 
about  now  when  the  cherries  are  getting  red. 
Do  you  suppose  William'll  think  I'm  much 
older?  He  wouldn't  say  so  if  he  did — just 
spread  his  fingers  out  on  my  hair  and  kiss  in 

between  them 

Nobody  must  see  him  until  he  got  home 
and  found  Hulda.  About  this  time  of  the 
evening  she  would  be  sprinkling  down  the 
clothes  or  sitting  beside  the  red  lamp  on  the 
yellow  cracked  table  reading  her  good  night 


182  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

rhapter.  Nobody  could  keep  house  the  way 
I  lulda  could;  everything  just  like  it  had  come 
out  of  a  store.  You  could  come  to  call  any 
lime  you  wanted  to  and  she  wouldn't  have  to 
run  ahead  shutting  doors  and  throwing  things 
under  the  bed  like  .some  women  he  could  name. 
Every  string  from  the  store  wound  up  on  a 
corn-cob  and  stuck  in  a  Mason  jar  so  that  you 
could  go  into  the  kitchen  at  midnight  and  put 
your  hand  on  anything  you  wanted.  And  when 
you  got  sick  one  bowl  of  her  broth  made  you 
feel  like  sitting  up,  and  she  could  just  look 
at  you  once  and  put  her  hand  on  your  fore 
head,  ask  where  you  felt  sick,  march  right  out 
in  the  kitchen  and  come  back  with  something 
that  would  straighten  you  out  before  a  regu 
lar  doctor  got  through  shaking  the  thermome 
ter. 

Night  was  fast  taking  up  the  houses,  like 
a  great  piece  of  blotting  paper. 

Clem  was  elated  through  and  through  to  be 
back.  Home  had  never  before  seemed  so  dear. 
Curryville  was  the  best  town  in  all  the  world, 
but  they  should  fix  the  crossing  down  by  the 


HOME  SWEET  HOME  183 

stock-yards — some  horse's  liable  to  break  a  leg. 

He  came  slipping  in  through  the  back  gate. 
He  would  surprise  Hulda  just  about  the  time 
she  was  shutting  the  Bible  on  the  hand-worked 
book-mark.  He  must  look  his  best;  he  knew 
that  he  was  grimy  after  knocking  around  box 
cars,  but  how  could  he  brighten  up  before  he 
went  inside?  The  rain  barrel  suggested  a 
way.  The  wash-pans  were  all  in  the  house, 
but  a  crock  would  do.  He  plunged  his  face  in 
and  scrubbed  and  dried  on  a  wadded  handker 
chief.  He  brushed  the  hay-heads  off  and 
shook  his  coat.  He  felt  better  anyway,  even 
if  his  efforts  did  not  show  very  much.  The 
rain  barrel  was  getting  full  of  polliwogs;  tip 
ping  it  up  on  its  chime  he  drained  them  out  and 
backed  away  from  the  encroaching  flood. 

What  a  big  nest  the  English  sparrows  had 
built  in  the  eaves-trough  while  he  had  been 
away.  English  sparrows  were  the  meanest 
birds  in  the  world. 

He  turned  the  corner  to  step  up  on  the  porch 
and  nearly  fell  over  a  yawning  coal  pail.  Hulda 
hadn't  had  anybody  to  fill  it  for  her,  and  she 


was  never  very  strong;  not  half  so  strong  as 
she  looked.  He  turned  back  to  the  wood-shed. 
The  supply  of  coal  was  getting  low;  he  would 
have  the  bin  filled  for  the  winter  before  the 
prices  went  up. 

He  came  back  with  a  heaping  bucket  brush 
ing  against  his  leg,  one  arm  out  for  balance. 
He  stopped  short;  the  front  part  of  the  house 
was  a  blaze  of  light — every  lamp  in  the  house 
was  burning.  Slipping  up  to  the  half-open 
window  he  pressed  his  face  against  the  screen. 
The  room  was  full  of  people  talking  in  low 
voices. 

Then  he  saw  that  the  light  didn't  come  from 
lamps — but  from  candles. 

In  a  moment  the  full  significance  of  the 
candles  and  the  crowd  burst  on  him.  They 
were  having  what  would  have  been  a  wake  had 
Hulda  not  been  an  American  and  a  Methodist. 
They  had  given  up  search  for  his  body  and 
were  mourning  for  him.  Clem  knew  how  it 
was;  Hulda  would  feel  better  after  there  had 
been  some  public  demonstration  for  her  lost 
brother. 


-**  '  *  . 


They  had  given  up  search  and  were  mourning 


HOME  SWEET  HOME  185 

Clem  wet  his  lips — he  would  rush  in  and 
bring  joy  to  all.  But  something  made  him 
pause  a  moment  and  put  his  ear  to  the  screen. 

"Poor  man,  he's  better  off  where  he  is  than 
the  rest  of  us,"  came  a  sad  voice.  Clem  stiff 
ened  :  it  was  Mrs.  Kiggins,  and  she  was  speak 
ing  in  the  mournful  tone  she  used  at  funerals, 
and  Mrs.  Kiggins  was  one  of  the  most  regular 
funeral  attendants  in  all  Curryville.  "Of 
course  the  taking  was  hard,  but  he  has  gone 
to  his  reward.  We  poor  worms  of  the  earth 
can  not  understand  many  things,  but  we  know 
that  everything  is  for  the  best.  We  mourn 
and  sorrow  for  our  dear  departed  brother 
when  all  the  time  he  is  in  a  far  happier  land, 
resting  in  the  bosom  of  Abraham.  Just  a  few 
nights  before  Brother  Pointer's  taking  off  I 
had  a  horrible  dream — just  like  I  did  the  week 
before  the  Kimmons  girl  got  her  foot  caught  in 
the  frog  on  the  railroad  track.  I  seemed  to 
be  walking  beside  a  great  body  of  water,  and 
it  was  lappin'  on  the  edge  and  I  saw  a  lonely 
figure  walking  ahead  of  me.  Something  about 
it  looked  familiar  and  I  called  to  it,  but  it 


186  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

didn't  turn.  Then  I  called  again  and  it  turned 
and  it  was— oh,  oh — Brother  Pointer — and  his 
face  was  all  bruised  and  bloody.  He  raised 
one  hand  like  this  and  pointed  down  into  the 
water  and  disappeared.  Do  you  understand 
it,  Brother  Sadnow?" 

The  Reverend  Sadnow  drew  his  hands  out 
of  his  sleeves,  and  cleared  his  throat.  Such 
things  could  not  be  explained,  but  they  were  a 
matter  of  history  and  record  and  only  went 
to  show  how  uncertain  human  life  was.  The 
only  safe  way  to  be  prepared  for  the  call 
that  must  come  to  all  was  to  attend  meeting 
regularly  and  contribute  freely  that  the  great 
work  of  saving  souls  might  go  on  undimin- 
ished. 

"Held  up  one  hand  like  this,"  Mrs.  Kiggins 
repeated,  "a  sad  look  on  his  face,  and  pointed 
down  into  the  water.  I  didn't  tell  anybody, 
for  you  know  how  it  would  worry  a  person. 
I'll  never  forget  how  he  pointed — just  like  this. 
Poor  man,  he's  better  off  now  than  we  are. 
Maybe  he's  back  this  minute,  lookin'  at  us 
and  feelin'  sad  for  us." 


HOME  SWEET  HOME  187 

Clem  stepped  back  into  the  darkness  and 
tried  to  turn  away,  but  was  drawn  irresistibly 
to  the  window. 

"He  was  a  good  man,"  said  Mrs.  Ford, 
reaching  over  and  righting  one  of  the  candles. 
"As  good  a  man  as  ever  walked  on  two  legs. 
Kind  of  quiet,  but  when  he  talked  you  listened. 
I  mind  the  time  my  cave  got  full  of  water  and 
with  Rencie  too  little  to  help  and  all  the  canned 
fruit  Cousin  Wilson  gave  me  just  ready  to 
topple  over  and  spoil.  Then  Clem  come — just 
remembered  I  was  a  poor  widow —  and  bailed 
all  the  water  out  and  slipped  away  before  I 
could  get  him  a  cracker  and  a  mouthful  of 
jam.  The  last  time  I  saw  him  he  was  hitching 
up  a  boy's  billy-goat." 

Reverend  Sadnow  pushed  his  hands  farther 
into  his  sleeves  and  prepared  to  speak. 

"The  departed  brother  was  a  worthy  vessel ; 
always  ready  to  take  his  talent  out  of  his  nap 
kin,  share  it  with  the  world  and  give  the  linen 
to  some  worthy  soul.  His  lamp  was  always 
trimmed  and  sitting  in  the  window  to  keep 
some  poor  soul's  weary  feet  from  stumbling  as 


1 88  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

he  trod  the  sidewalk  of  life.  Healthy  and 
happy  one  day  and  the  next  gone  to  the  land 
that  floweth  with  milk  and  honey.  It  only 
goes  to  show  that  in  the  midst  of  life  we  are 
in  the  midst  of  death.  The  angel  of  death 
has  its  black  wings  stretched  out  all  the  time 
and  in  its  talons  snatches  us  poor  mortals  away 
without  a  moment's  warning.  I  should  like 
to  urge  on  all  of  you  who  have  not  handed  in 
your  church  letters  that  you  do  so  at  once 
for  no  man  knoweth  what  the  morrow  will 
bring  forth." 

Silence  held  for  a  labored  minute  while  the 
Reverend  Sadnow  glanced  around  the  room  as 
if  calculating  which  one  would  be  the  first  to  be 
snatched  away. 

The  mourners  moved  in  nearer  the  candles ;  a 
locust  at  the  corner  of  the  porch  lifted  its  file- 
like  voice  in  challenge  to  the  sleeping  world. 

"He  was  a  splendid  character,"  said  Mrs. 
Woodbridge  simply.  "I  sometimes  think  we 
are  so  busy  being  selfish  that  we  overlook  the 
fine  qualities  in  those  nearest  us." 

"He  was  a  tender  noble  brother,"  sobbed 


HOME  SWEET  HOME  189 

Hulda.  "It  breaks  my  heart  to  think  of  all 
the  mean  things  I  said  to  him.  He  was  going 
down-town  that  night  for  me,  tired  out  and 
patient  as  he  could  be,  when  he  was  struck 
down,  thinking  of  me  to  his  last  breath."  Her 
handkerchief  went  to  her  eyes  and  her  shoul 
ders  rose  and  fell  in  repentance. 

Clem  drew  back  from  the  window  and  tip 
toed  away.  "And  me  runnin'  away  from  it  all ! 
I  ain't  fit  to  associate  with  them,  me  a  gambler 
and  a  jail  criminal !  I  never  did  put  that  hinge 
on  the  gate  she  wanted  me  to,  and  she  has  to 
lift  it  every  time  she  goes  through,  and  me 
worrying  the  life  out  of  her  every  day,  and 
she  keepin'  the  neatest  and  cleanest  house  in 
town."  He  sat  down  on  a  saw-horse  under 
a  cherry  tree,  and  for  half  an  hour  he  re 
mained  in  the  same  position,  his  chin  in  his 
hand,  thinking.  Then  he  spoke  aloud  as  if 
laying  down  the  law  to  himself;  spoke  slowly 
and  with  the  harshness  of  a  Puritan.  "I 
ain't  fit  to  come  back  to  her — me,  a  jail-bird ! 
I'm  going  away  and  take  my  medicine  and 
when  I  do  come  back  I  can  look  her  in  the 


190  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

eye.  I'm  going  to  straighten  up  and  come  back 
a  man." 

Rising,  he  turned  resolutely  away.  As  he 
passed  through  the  small  garden  he  paused, 
and  looked  over  the  latch  fence.  "I  hope  them 
Knabb  chickens  ain't  eatin'  up  all  the  toma 
toes  when  there  ain't  no  one  here  to  watch 
'em.  She  caught  cold  settin*  them  out  while 
I  was  down-town  arguin'  how  the  world  would 
come  to  an  end." 

At  the  corner  of  the  yard  he  turned  and 
looked  back.  The  low  tones  of  the  organ 
rolled  out — Gertie  Knabb  was  playing,  and 
voices  were  lifted  in  When  We  Shall  Meet 
Over  on  the  Other  Shore.  Brushing  his  hand 
across  his  eyes,  Clem  squared  his  shoulders 
and  started  toward  the  freight  yards. 

Suddenly  a  figure  rose  out  of  the  darkness 
before  him — Rick  Oody.  Clem  jumped  back, 
but  it  was  too  late — Rick  had  seen  him. 

"Who's  that,  who's  that?"  demanded  Rick 
excitedly.  "Go  'way  from  me,  I  ain't  done 
nothin* — I  swear  I  hain't.  What  makes  you 
come  back  and  pick  on  a  poor  old  thing  like 


HOME  SWEET  HOME  191 

me?"  He  dropped  his  spade  and  was  just 
turning  in  flight,  when  Clem  reached  out  a 
hand. 

"Is  that  you,  Rick?" 

"Yes,  it's  me.  To-night  when  I  was  buryin' 
a  cow  I  looked  up  and  saw  the  new  moon  over 
my  left  shoulder  and  you  come  back  to  haunt 
me  already." 

"Don't  be  afraid,  Rick,"  patting  his  shoul 
der.  "I  ain't  a  ghost." 

"Who — what  are  you  then  ?" 

"I  wasn't  killed,  Rick.  I  run  away — like  a 
coward." 

"You  sure  you  wasn't  killed  then,"  working 
his  shoulder  out  from  under  the  friendly  hand. 

"No,  Rick,  no,  I'm  all  right.  I'm  just  a 
fool,  that's  what  I  am,  Rick." 

Rick  edged  away  as  if  not  quite  sure  that 
the  stranger  wasn't  something  of  a  less  elemen 
tal  nature. 

"I  am  goin'  to  tell  you  something,  Rick, 
and  I  want  you  to  keep  it  to  yourself — for  me. 
Will  you?" 

"Yes,"  he  returned  firmly. 


192  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

"I  believe  you.  I  wasn't  killed,  not  even 
hurt — that's  all  I  can  tell  you  now.  I'm  going 
away,  but  I'm  coming  back  sometime  and  ex 
plain  everything.  I  want  you  to  promise  that 
you  won't  mention  a  word  of  this  to  anybody — 
will  you  promise?" 

Rick  promised. 

Clem  patted  Rick  on  the  shoulder.  Rick 
was  getting  old,  but  in  spite  of  everything  he 
was  lovable  and  loyal. 

"How's  everybody,  Rick?  Have  you  had 
any  more  fires?  Do  they  keep  water  in  the 
priming  bucket?  Did  Gertie  Knabb  win  the 
Tribune  piano?  Have  the  McElravys  found 
their  goat  yet?" 

Rick  was  helpless  under  this  whirl  of  ques 
tions.  "No,  no  more  fires — everybody's  been 
too  busy  searching  for  your  body.  It's  been 
found  three  times.  Say,  I  hate  Doctor  For- 
dyce.  They  hadn't  got  out  the  reward  offers 
till  he  was  calling  for  a  sale  of  your  lots  in 
the  Bellows  Bottom.  Miss  Mary  Mendenhall 
hated  him  at  first,  too,  but  she's  kind  of  givin' 
up  now.  One  day  she  said  to  me,  'Do  you 


HOME  SWEET  HOME  193 

think  Mr.  Pointer  is  really  dead?'  'I  know 
it/  I  said.  'Why?'  'Oh,  nothin','  she  says. 
'He  is  a  brave  man,  isn't  he?'  'He  was,'  I 
says,  and  she  put  her  handkerchief  up  to  her 
eyes.  Just  then  Doctor  Fordyce  come  up  and 
went  walking  with  her.  I  hate  him.  Ever 
notice  his  ears? — growed  tight  up  against  his 
head  like  door  hinges." 

"Do — do  they  go  walking  together  often?" 

"He's  got  an  automobile,"  replied  Rick. 

Clem  caught  his  breath  and  involuntarily 
his  hand  went  up  to  his  head.  But  in  the  dark 
ness  Rick  couldn't  see.  "I  ain't  good  enough 
for  her,"  he  said  under  his  breath,  "for  either 
of  them  .  .  .  me  a  gambler  .  .  .  and  a 
jail-bird.  .  .  ;  There's  nobody  to  blame 
but  myself.  I'm  going  to  take  my  medicine." 
Then  he  raised  his  voice  to  Rick.  "Now,  Rick, 
don't  say  a  word — promise  me  again,  won't 
you?" 

Rick  held  out  a  hand  still  rough  with  clay, 
and  Clem  knew  the  pledge  would  never  be 
violated. 

"Good-by,  Rick." 


194  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

With  that  Clem  slipped  off  toward  the  sta 
tion  where  a  thirsty  freight  was  panting  at 
the  tank. 


CHAPTER  XII 

AN  OBLIGING  CONSTABLE 

THE  chain  rattled,  the  door  creaked  and 
Gib  entered  the  jail. 

"Come  right  in  and  make  yourself  at  home," 
greeted  Brassy.  "Out-of-town  trade  solicited, 
home  cooking  a  specialty  and  buses  meet  all 
trains.  Our  interior  decorations  are  by  such 
well-known  artists  as  Beefy  Bill,  Roscoe  the 
Red  and  Jack  the  Penman.  Our  scenery  is  es 
pecially  noteworthy,  containing  enchanting 
glimpses  of  the  shingle  roof  of  the  New  Palace 
Livery  Barn,  a  vista  of  the  rear  of  Weisen- 
berg's  New  Cement  Hand  and  Steam  Laundry, 
with  an  especially  good  opportunity  to  study 
Huggins  Gully,  where  they  built  the  scaffold 
to  hang  Mexico  Mike,  the  boy  bandit.  From 
this  alcove  maddening  glimpses  of  the  sunset 
may  be  obtained.  I  don't  wish  to  push  our 

195 


196  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

sunsets  over  rival  sunsets,  but  I  am  sure  you 
will  find  them  especially  attractive.  Without 
wishing  to  run  down  any  of  our  competitors  or 
cast  aspersion  on  their  beauties  I  can  say  these 
sunsets  are  almost  an  exclusive  feature  with 
us.  Guests  have  remained  for  weeks  chained 
to  the  spot  just  to  take  advantage  of  our  solar 
arrangements." 

"Shut  up,"  snorted  the  officer. 

"There,  there,  you've  forgotten  your  count 
ing.  Begin  one — two — three.  Do  you  know 
that  I  believe  I  am  not  welcome  here;  it  hurts 
me  to  think  you  do  not  want  me  around;  if 
I  had  known  how  you  felt  about  it,  far  be  it 
from  me  to  have  forced  myself  on  you.  A  sen 
sitive  soul  like  me'd  rather  die  than  feel  un 
welcome,  so  I  will  leave  day  after  to-morrow. 
By  jooks!  seems  to  me  I've  been  here  since  the 
buffalo  left." 

"Can't  you  shut  up?  I'm  gettin'  afraid  to 
come  in  here." 

"One — two — three — " 

After  his  tour  of  inspection,  the  officer 
slammed  the  iron  door  spitefully. 


AN  OBLIGING  CONSTABLE      197 

A  little  later  the  chains  rattled  again  and 
the  door  groaned  its  way  open. 

Brassy  looked  up  and  Clem  stood  before 
him. 

Brassy  came  to  his  feet,  grabbed  both  of 
Clem's  hands  and  pumped  them.  "Welcome 
to  our  salon,"  he  exclaimed,  hopping  from  one 
foot  to  the  other  in  an  elephantine  dance. 
"Thrice  welcome!  Come  right  in  and  make 
yourself  at  home — the  best  in  the  place's  yours. 
Things  have  changed  a  lot  since  you  left: 
temperature  and  the  sheets.  Jooks!  but  you 
are  looking  younger — travel  must  do  you  good. 
Mr.  Gib  has  missed  you  sadly ;  he's  been  asking 
about  you  every  day.  I  never  saw  a  person 
take  such  a  fancy  to  a  fellow  the  way  he  did 
to  you;  you  hadn't  been  gone  half  an  hour  till 
he  was  wild  to  see  you — perfectly  wild." 

Silently  Brassy  reached  over  and  shook 
Clem's  hand  again.  "Where  did  they  get  you, 
anyway?" 

"They  didn't  get  me." 

"But  you're  here!"  pointed  out  Brassy. 

"I  just  came  back — that's  all." 


198  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

Brassy  searched  Clem's  face  for  the  joke. 

"Quit  your  kiddin'.  Have  they  got  hounds?" 

"No.    I  came  back." 

"You  mean  brought." 

Clem  shook  his  head. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  flourished  Brassy, 
"that  you,  in  your  right  and  lawful  mind,  de 
liberately,  of  your  own  accord,  knowing  full 
well  what  you  were  about,  with  malice  afore 
thought,  wilfully  and  premeditately  returned 
to  this  chamber  of  horrors?" 

"Yes.    Are  the  beans  any  better?" 

"You  just  came  back,  walked  up  to  Gib 
and  says,  'Please,  sir,  will  you  take  me  in?  I 
am  lonesome.' ' 

"Well,  not  just  exactly  that;  I  went  up  to 
him  and  said,  Tm  back  and  am  goin'  to  stay 
my  time  out.' ' 

"This  ain't  no  place  for  me.  I'm  afraid  to 
stay  in  here  alone  with  you.  Say,  I  can't 
tell  when  you're  kiddin'.  Sure  enough  now, 
did  you  come  back  and  say  to  Gib,  Tut  me  to 
bed,  mother'?" 

"Not  just  them  words,  but — " 


AN  OBLIGING  CONSTABLE      199 

"You  shouldn't  travel  'outside'  with  the  cir 
cus — get  under  the  main  top.  Say,  old  pal, 
I  like  you,  anyway — even  if  there  is  something 
loose.  You  didn't  engage  permanent  quarters, 
did  you?" 

"No,  as  soon  as  my  time's  up  I'm  going 
home  and  be  white." 

Brassy  reached  out  a  thick  hand.  "Shake. 
Me,  too.  But  I'm  going  to  stick  here  with  you 
till  your  time's  up." 

It  was  useless  for  Clem  to  argue. 

"I'm  not  going  till  you  wring  Gib's  hand 
good-by,"  said  Brassy.  "I  can  learn  a  lot 
hangin'  around  you." 

Long  and  earnestly  the  two  talked,  Brassy 
listening  with  deepest  respect  to  Clem's  sim 
plest  utterance,  till  the  day  came  for  Brassy  to 
go.  Gib  came  in  and  called:  "John  Simpson 
Hagan,  John  Simpson  Hagan,  be  it  known  that 
your  time  of  imprisonment  has  expired  and  I 
am  ordered  to  give  you  your  freedom." 

"Mr.  Officer,"  began  Brassy,  expanding,  "I 
can  not  find  words  to  express  the  emotion  that 
stirs  my  heart,  that  wells  up  and  clamors  for 


200  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

utterance  at  your  thoughtful  offer,  but  still  at 
the  same  time  a  deeper  feeling  surges  over  me 
in  remembrance  of  the  many  kind  deeds  you 
have  done  for  me.  When  I  came  to  this  place  I 
was  a  stranger  and  ye  took  me  in  and  ye  have 
sheltered  and  fed  me  ever  since,  stayed  up  at 
night  and  planned  for  me.  Your  hospitality 
has  overwhelmed  me,  your  generosity  has 
shamed  me.  I  can  not  bear  to  tear  myself 
away  and  to  think  that  our  only  means  of  com- 
munication'd  be  post-cards;  at  best  there  is 
something  lacking  in  post-cards;  they  can  not 
express  all  the  emotions  that  the  human  heart 
is  heir  to,  so  I  shall  remain  here  for  a  few 
days  more  where  I  may  have  the  pleasure  of 
meeting  you  from  time  to  time." 

The  constable  rubbed  his  forehead,  per 
plexed.  "You  mean  you  ain't  goin'?" 

"My  soul  cries  for  a  few  more  sunsets — 
just  a  few  more  glimpses  of  the  golden  orb 
of  day  sinkin'  to  rest  between  the  Boston 
Racket  Store  and  the  New  Palace  Livery  Barn, 
its  shimmering  shafts  falling  athwart  the  Wei- 
senberg  New  Cement  Hand  and  Steam  Laun- 


AN  OBLIGING  CONSTABLE      201 

dry  and  painting  glorious  pictures  with  its  ra 
diant  rays  in  nature's  own  colors  over  the 
Bull  Durham  sign.  I  would  stay  on." 

The  constable  backed  toward  the  door.  "I 
been  constable  for  twenty-two  years  now,  and 
never  failed  of  election,  but  I  ain't  ever  had 
any  like  you  two.  One  breaks  out,  them  comes 
back  and  begs  to  be  locked  up,  and  when  the 
other  one's  time's  up  he  talks  about  sunsets  and 
won't  leave.  You  ain't  like  the  average  run. 
How'd  you  gentlemen  like  to  have  cornbread 
to-night?" 

"Oh,  a  golden  piece  of  cornbread;  split  it  in 
two  and  put  in  a  piece  of  butter  the  size  of 
a  domino!  We'll  book  solid  with  you!" 

The  constable  could  not  do  enough  for  them ; 
no  doubt  they  were  philanthropists  traveling  in 
disguise  or  millionaires  on  a  lark.  You  read 
about  such  things  every  day  in  the  papers  and 
if  you  treated  them  well,  they'd  come  back  and 
pension  you  for  life.  Or  maybe  they'd  build 
an  iron  fountain  for  the  city  with  a  horse 
standing  up — rampant  was  what  they  called 
it — and  water  squirting  out  its  nostrils,  and  a 


place  down  at  the  bottom  for  dogs.  You  could 
never  tell.  Besides  the  fat  one  didn't  talk 
like  an  ordinary  man ;  he  must  be  a  philanthro 
pist  or  a  millionaire. 

Gib's  whole  manner  changed.  The  old  quilts 
were  taken  off  and  pillows  were  brought  in; 
even  a  new  wash  basin  appeared. 

He  came  in  with  his  hand  behind  his  back. 
"Would  you  gentlemen  like  a  bit  of  ice 
cream?" 

Brassy  looked  at  Clem;  Clem  returned  the 
gaze.  Brassy  spoke:  "Cruel  man,  you  but  jest 
with  us — jest  with  us  poor  miserable  wretches 
incarcerated  in  this  penal  institution,  so  that 
we  can  not  go  about  the  land  carrying  on  our 
great  and  good  work  of  teaching  doubting 
mankind  that  a  blind  spot  grows  on  every 
retina.  Now  you  taunt  us — thrust  a  stick  of 
candy  in  our  faces  and  when  our  greedy  fingers 
reach  out  for  it,  jerk  it  away  with  a  harsh 
mocking  laugh." 

"It  ain't  candy — it's  ice-cream,"  bringing 
his  hand  around  and  showing  a  heaping  plate. 

Brassy  smacked  his  lips.     "Pinch  me,  pinch 


AN  OBLIGING  CONSTABLE      203 

me — I  sleep,  but  if  this  is  sleeping  turn  back 
the  alarm  clock." 

Gib's  face  cracked  and  broke  open  while  he 
wormed  backward  toward  the  door.  "If  you 
gentlemen  want  anything  more  just  pound  on 
the  chuck-hole  and  I'll  hear  you." 

"I  ain't  wandering  in  my  head,  am  I  ?"  ques 
tioned  Brassy,  after  the  door  had  locked.  "I 
feel  all  right,  but  still  this  is  regular  ice 
cream." 

As  the  days  closed  and  the  hours  grew 
nearer  for  the  two  to  go,  the  guardian  of  the 
calaboose  became  more  and  more  thoughtful. 
The  night  before  Clem  was  to  have  his  free 
dom  the  constable  came  in  and  told  them  that 
although  it  was  not  quite  according  to  the  rules 
and  regulations  he  would  take  them  to  the 
moving  picture  show,  if  they  felt  so  disposed. 
But  Brassy  and  Clem  were  talking  over  their 
plans  after  they  should  once  get  out  and  pre 
ferred  the  time  to  themselves.  With  a  well  of 
words  Brassy  explained  that  they  were  in 
prison  and  that  none  of  the  frivolities  of  the 
world  should  keep  them  from  their  stern  duty 


204  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

of  being  model  prisoners  and  that  while  they 
appreciated  his  kind  offer  they  felt  that  they 
had  a  higher  duty  to  their  state  and  country 
to  perform  by  remaining  in  durance  vile,  and 
that  they  hoped  he  would  see  it  from  their 
point  of  view  and  understand  just  how  much 
it  hurt  them  to  turn  down  his  kind  and 
thoughtful  offer.  After  they  got  out  and 
were  riding  in  their  private  cars,  looking 
into  their  smelting  business  in  the  West 
and  running  down  to  Florida  to  see  how 
their  reclamation  of  everglades  was  get 
ting  along,  they  should  certainly  remem 
ber  his  kind  offer  and  when  opportunity 
presented  they  would  reciprocate  in  a  way  much 
more  substantial  than  by  mere  empty  words., 

"They're  in  disguise  all  right,"  the  constable 
whispered  to  his  daughter  Grace.  "The  fat 
one  let  it  slip  that  they  had  private  cars,  yachts 
and  everglades.  Can't  you  spare  a  little  of 
that  salad,  Grace?" 

On  the  last  day  Gib  came  in  and  sadly  in 
formed  them  that  freedom  was  theirs.  "Can 
I  help  you  gentlemen  get  ready?" 


AN  OBLIGING  CONSTABLE      205 

Brassy  explained  that  in  some  way  or  other 
they  would  struggle  along  and  try  to  manage 
to  get  their  things  packed  without  putting  their 
host  to  so  much  trouble.  When  the  two  came 
out  the  hallway  was  half  full  of  men  who  had 
casually  dropped  in  to  see  the  constable  for 
a  minute,  nothing  pressing,  but  just  as  well  at 
tend  to  it  this  morning  as  not.  Cale  Stark  was 
studying  the  county  map,  his  glasses  teetering 
on  the  end  of  his  nose.  Lem  Higginbottam 
was  sitting  in  Gib's  chair,  his  brown  straw  hat 
pushed  back  from  a  wrinkled  brow. 

When  the  free  men  came  out  there  was  a 
gradual  shifting  of  all  the  loungers  in  the 
office  until  they  faced  the  two  philanthropists 
in  disguise. 

Lem  Higginbottam  rose  from  the  office  chair 
bedded  with  papers.  "One  of  you  gentlemen 
have  a  seat.  Was  you  calculatin'  on  goin'  back 
to  the  circus  or  was  you  thinking  of  investing 
in  these  parts?" 

Brassy  prepared  himself.  It  was  just  the 
kind  of  situation  he  loved.  He  explained  that 
he  would  catch  up  with  his  branch  of  the  circus, 


206  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

see  that  everything  was  all  right,  engage  a 
new  acrobatic  troupe,  send  the  earnings  to  the 
eastern  safe  deposit  vault,  cross  over  and  see 
how  the  other  branch  was  getting  along,  then 
start  for  the  West  in  their  private  car  and 
get  some  of  the  smelter  business  things 
straightened  out.  A  person  had  to  be  con 
stantly  in  touch  with  all  the  departments  of  a 
large  business,  his  fingers  on  every  key  of  the 
great  machine  to  keep  all  the  cogs  working 
smoothly ;  such  work  could  not  be  left  to  an  as 
sistant,  or  one  of  the  minor  officers,  capable 
as  he  might  be.  Such  work  was  for  none  but 
the  president.  But  as  for  investing  in  these 
parts  he  had  not  had  time  to  look  around,  busy 
as  he  had  been  during  the  last  week;  so  busy 
that  he  hadn't  gone  out  at  all.  Still  if  they 
knew  of  anything  that  had  possibilities  they 
could  address  him  at  his  eastern  office,  26 
Broadway,  New  York,  and  if  he  couldn't  come 
himself  he  would  have  his  confidential  man 
drop  off  on  his  way  west.  He'd  like  to  go 
into  it  in  detail  but  they  must  excuse  him  as 


AN  OBLIGING  CONSTABLE      207 

he  and  Mr.  Pointer  must  catch  the  next  train. 
Business  was  business. 

Cale  Stark  had  his  phaeton  outside  and  was 
going  down  toward  the  station  and  if  the 
gentlemen  wished  to  ride  he  would  be  only 
too  pleased  to  have  them  jump  in. 

When  they  arrived  at  the  station  the  plat 
form  was  full  of  loungers,  who  had  just  hap 
pened  to  come  down  thinking  there  might  be 
some  express  for  them. 

The  train  came  rolling  in,  the  engineer  lean 
ing  out  the  cab,  his  arms  folded  under  him, 
like  a  pup's  feet,  looking  on  the  people  in  good- 
natured  superiority.  Engineers  always  have 
that  look  when  they  pull  into  a  small  town. 
They  seem  to  be  sorry  for  everybody  on  foot. 

"There's  the  one  that  got  away  and  came 
back,"  Clem  heard  some  one  on  the  edge  of 
the  crowd  whisper.  "Probably  ...  in 
disguise  .  .  .  show  them  the  new  ice 
house?  Lots  of  ...  on  larks." 

The  constable  held  out  his  hand  to  Clem. 
"I  hope,  Mr.  Pointer,  you  won't  hold  this 


208  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

rough  fare  against  us — you  know  how  the 
law's  got  to  be  obeyed.  Being  so  honorable 
as  to  come  back  after  you  was  out  has  sort 
of  got  us  liking  you.  When  do  you  think  you'll 
be  back  to  get  better  acquainted?" 

Before  Clem  could  tell  him  just  when  that 
pleasant  day  would  be,  the  train  started  and 
Clem  swung  on.  Where  was  Brassy?  He 
hadn't  seen  him  for  several  minutes.  Clem 
hurried  through  the  train  and  in  the  last  car 
found  him  just  coming  in  from  the  platform. 
"Barely  made  it,"  puffed  Brassy.  "Just  bare 
ly.  Running  ain't  my  specialty.  I  got  too 
much  to  carry,  but  I  just  had  to  stick  till  the 
very  last  second — the  picking  was  so  good." 
He  pulled  out  a  handful  of  bills  and  caressed 
them  tenderly.  "The  boys  got  me  off  in  the 
baggage  room  and  inveigled  me  into  showing 
them  once  more  about  the  mysterious  phenome 
non  of  human  nature — la  periphera,  or  as  it  is 
commonly  called,  the  blind  spot.  A  goodly 
number  of  them  had  it  and  I  was  doing  all  I 
could — get  that? — doing  all  I  could  and  as 
fast  as  I  could  when  the  bell  rang;  I  made 


AN  OBLIGING  CONSTABLE      209 

another  examination  or  two,  collected  the  fees 
and  beat  it.  I'd  like  to  go  back  there  with  a 
basket.  We'll  go  snucks  on  this — half  and 
half." 

Clem  pushed  his  part  back.  "No,"  said  he 
firmly.  "I  can't  take  it;  not  a  penny.  I  am 
starting  out  new,  quick  as  I  earn  enough  to 
buy  a  new  suit  and  get  fixed  up  respectable  like 
I'm  going  home." 

Brassy  stared  at  him  dully.  "I  don't  get 
you." 

"No,  I'm  not  going  to  take  it,  much  as  I 
need  it.  I'm  going  to  straighten  up  alone 
without  it." 

Brassy's  eyelids  opened  and  shut  heavily. 
He  started  to  speak,  but  ended  by  moistening 
his  lips.  Finally  he  burst  out:  "I'm  beginning 
to  wonder  who  I  was  locked  up  with;  you 
make  your  getaway  slick  as  lard,  stay 
away  three  days  then  come  back  and  say, 
'Here  I  am — lock  me  up  again,  please/  When 
Providence  puts  some  cash  into  your  hands 
you  push  it  back  and  say,  'Not  a  penny.  I'm 
going  to  straighten  up  alone/  I  can't  see  what 


210  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

you've  got  to  straighten  up  alone  from.  Come 
on,  we'll  go  hep  on  this." 

"No,"  returned  Clem.  "I've  already  started 
in." 

Brassy  wheedled  him,  played  with  him, 
tried  to  drive  him  to  the  acceptance  of  the 
money,  but  Clem  was  firm. 

Across  the  aisle  a  woman  was  trying  to  hush 
a  baby  against  her  breast,  but  it  would  not 
silence.  At  the  continued  crying  the  passengers 
frowned  and  began  to  cast  significant  glances. 
There  were  tears  in  the  woman's  eyes  which 
she  wiped  away  with  the  back  of  her  hand 
without  pretending  to  use  a  handkerchief ;  red 
rough  hands  they  were,  too.  Reaching  into  a 
worn  frayed  bag,  she  brought  out  a  striped 
rubber  ball;  only  there  weren't  many  stripes 
left  on  it ;  just  splotches  where  the  stripes  had 
been. 

"Pretty  ball!"  she  mumbled  to  the  child. 
"Nice  pretty  ball!" 

The  child's  face  drew  up;  it  gave  one  cry 
and  then  held  its  breath.  The  train  rocked 
and  roared  while  the  child's  face  grew  tighter 


AN  OBLIGING  CONSTABLE      211 

and  tighter.  Then  it  gave  way  in  one  wild 
scream. 

A  fat  traveling  man,  with  his  tooth-brush 
sticking  out  of  his  waistcoat  pocket,  rose, 
dragged  his  sample  cases  off  the  rack,  glow 
ered  at  the  mother  and  moved  to  the  other 
end  of  the  car. 

Brassy  turned  so  that  he  faced  the  woman 
and  child.  "What  you  going  to  do  in  Kansas 
City?"  he  asked  Clem,  his  eyes  across  the 
aisles. 

"I  don't  know;  anything  I  can  till  I  get 
enough  money  to  go  home  and  be  respectable." 

Both  dropped  into  silence.  The  baby  began 
to  fret  in  the  unmistakable  manner  of  a  sick 
child.  The  splotched  shapeless  handful  of  rub 
ber  fell  to  the  floor,  and  bouncing  limply, 
rolled  under  a  seat.  Brassy  was  down  on  his 
knees  and  after  it  like  a  terrier.  He  put  the 
ball  into  the  woman's  knotted  hands  and 
wiggled  a  fat  finger  at  the  child.  Slowly  the 
child's  hand  went  out  and  seized  upon  the  fat 
finger.  Brassy  wrinkled  his  nose  like  a  rabbit 
and  hid  his  face  behind  a  hairy  hand.  Sud- 


212  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

denly  he  barked  like  a  dog  and  the  child  cooed 
in  glee. 

Clem  could  not  keep  his  eyes  off  Brassy. 
There  was  a  softness  and  kindness  in  his  face 
that  he  had  never  seen  there  before.  The 
woman  began  to  talk,  hesitatingly  at  first,  then 
gathering  confidence,  frankly.  Clem  withdrew 
into  another  coach  for  an  hour  and  when  he 
came  back  Brassy  was  sitting  hunched  down 
in  the  plush,  his  hands  heaped  over  his  rotund 
stomach.  The  baby  was  stretched  out  in  a  seat 
asleep,  under  its  head  a  pillow ;  the  mother  sat 
opposite,  her  eyes  on  her  child  and  in  her 
face  the  light  of  new  hope. 

Brassy  was  strangely  silent,  sometimes 
studying  the  woman's  face,  sometimes  his  gaze 
bent  on  Clem.  Clem  had  never  known  him  so 
quiet  or  so  thoughtful;  he  marveled  at  the 
change. 

At  last  Brassy  roused  himself.  "I  get  off  at 
the  junction.  I'm  going  home — if  my  wife'll 
have  me  back.  My  daughter  left  when  I  turned 
bad,  but  my  wife  has  never  given  up  hoping. 
It's  queer  about  wives,  ain't  it?  I'm  going  to 


AN  OBLIGING  CONSTABLE      213 

sell  hog  remedies  and  while  it  ain't  very  ex 
citing  it's  honest  and  nothing  to  be  ashamed 
of." 

When  the  train  stopped  at  the  junction 
Brassy  fitted  his  hand  into  Clem's.  "Keep  your 
eye  on  that  woman  and  kid — I  gave  them 
everything  I  cleaned  up  this  morning.  The  lit 
tle  thing  looks  an  awful  lot  like  the  lion  tamer 
did  when  she  was  its  size." 

The  hands  closed  again  and  Brassy  dropped 
off  the  step.  The  station  slipped  away  into  the 
night  and  a  switch-light  that  had  been  standing 
sentinel  beside  the  track  turned  and  fled 
after  it. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

GETTING  A  JOB 

UNSTOOPED  by  bag  or  baggage,  Clem 
wandered  up  the  streets  of  the  city  alone. 
It  was  not  his  world;  everybody   was  in  a 
hurry,  and  nobody  said  good  morning. 

A  janitor  in  a  sweater  was  standing  on  a 
rickety  ladder,  the  top  resting  against  the  glass 
of  a  window,  washing  and  whistling  away. 
It  was  a  wonder  that  the  window  didn't  cave 
in  and  send  him  sprawling  through  it,  cutting 
him  all  to  gracious. 

"Hadn't  you  better  go  a  bit  careful?" 

"Used  to  it.  Never  had  a  fall  in  my  life. 
Where  you  from?" 

How  did  he  know  that  Clem  didn't  live  in 
the  city?  And  when  he  was  there  so  early  in 
the  morning? 

"From  Curryville." 

214 


GETTING  A  JOB  215 

The  man  in  the  sweater  shook  his  head,  and 
brought  the  rubber  comber  down  in  a  long 
sweep,  the  water  flowing  in  front  of  it  like  a 
mild  river.  "Where's  that?" 

"Nodaway  County." 

The  man  shook  his  head  again. 

"Do  you  know  where  I  can  get  a  rooming 
house  to  live?" 

The  janitor  finished  another  river.  "Right 
around  the  corner — if  you  want  beans  in 
stead  of  style.  Not  much  on  dog  but  the  beans 
is  regular.  Used  to  live  there  myself." 

Clem  eyed  the  man  as  if  to  give  him  a  part 
ing  warning,  then  turned  the  corner. 

There  was  the  sign  in  all  the  colors  of  the 
spectrum,  some  of  the  letters  thin  and  per 
pendicular,  others  fat  and  wavering.  The 
largest  letters  shouted: 

HOTEL  COMFORT 

while  another  string  of  the  same  species,  but 
patently  not  of  the  same  family,  made  it 
known  that  beds  were  thirty-five  cents  a  night, 


216  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

while  good  beds  might  be  obtained  for  fifty 
cents.  Clem  turned  into  Hotel  Comfort 

Backed  across  a  corner  out  of  the  way  was 
the  registering  desk.  Behind  the  desk  a  row 
of  empty  key  boxes  opened  hungry  mouths. 
On  the  wall  William  J.  Bryan,  our  Peerless 
Leader,  in  three  colors  and  an  autograph, 
lurched  heavily  to  his  right  as  if  trying  to  dis 
cover  if  there  was  anything  in  the  boxes.  To 
his  right  a  farmer  in  high  top  boots,  stood  at 
the  corner  of  a  plowed  "land,"  a  sombrero  on 
his  head  and  a  hand  on  his  hip,  watching  his 
thirteen-year-old  son  driving  a  four-color 
harvester  around  a  golden  brown  wheat  field. 
The  title  of  the  picture  was,  "A  Boy  Can  Drive 
It  as  Well  as  a  Man." 

Clem  came  clear  up  to  the  desk  before  he 
saw  any  representative  of  Beds  35c — Good 
beds  5oc.  She  was  bending  over  a  book,  one 
ear  in  her  hand,  her  tousled  hair  falling  free. 
Clem  put  his  elbows  on  the  desk  and  cleared 
his  throat.  Evidently  his  grace  was  just 
touching  his  lips  to  the  tips  of  her  ladyship's 
long  graceful  fingers.  Clem  kicked  his  toe 


GETTING  A  JOB  217 

against  the  desk,  but  the  duke,  overcome  by 
his  emotions,  had  clasped  Lady  Lewellyn  in 
his  strong  arms  and  was  kissing  her  tear- 
stained  face  time  after  time,  scarce  knowing 
what  he  was  doing. 

"Can  I  get  board  here  for  a  while?"  he 
asked  at  last,  ashamed  to  shatter  the  world  of 
romance  by  such  an  every-day  sordid  thing  as 
board. 

The  tousled  head  raised,  a  finger  was  fitted 
where  the  kisses  fell  thickest  and  the  book 
closed  on  it. 

"Was  you  speaking?"  asked  the  girl. 

"Can  I  get  board  here  for  a  while  ?" 

"Meals?" 

"Yes." 

"Bed?" 

"Yes." 

With  the  finger  still  imprisoned  the  girl 
reached  under  the  counter,  but  the  object  of 
her  search  was  not  forthcoming.  "Tookie," 
she  called,  "where's  the  day  book?" 

"In  the  readin'  room,"  came  back  a  voice 
from  the  kitchen. 


218  WHEN  JO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

The  girl  stepped  into  a  side  room  and  was 
back  in  a  moment  with  a  frayed  ledger,  full 
of  red  cross  lines,  that  was  never  meant  to  con 
tain  names.  Clem  untangled  the  pencil  tied  to 
the  register  and  poised  it  over  the  page.  He 
hesitated  a  moment,  then  wrote :  "J.  H.  Craig, 
Chicago,  111." 

The  girl  whirled  the  book  around  and 
studied  the  signature.  Clem  trembled  and 
turned  his  flushed  face  away;  she  had  seen 
through  him.  "I  visited  there  last  summer," 
said  the  tousled  one.  "My  aunt  she's  got  an 
automobile  and  you  can't  get  in  her  house  till 
you  ring  two  bells.  Where  'bouts  do  you  live?" 

A  hot  flush  ran  over  Clem.  "You  mean 
when  I'm  home?"  fighting  for  time. 

"Yes — in  Chicago." 

"Oh,  you  mean  when — when  I'm  home  in 
Chicago." 

"  'Course." 

"In — in  the  western  part.  The  street's 
paved.  What  time  is  breakfast  ready?" 

"Six  to  seven-thirty.  Tookie,  show  this  gen 
tleman  to  17  and  get  a  clean  towel  as  you  go 


GETTING  A  JOB  219 

up."  Dropping  down  behind  the  counter,  she 
flopped  open  the.  book  and  fitted  an  ear  into 
her  hand.  His  grace  now  had  a  chance  to 
come  to  a  realization  of  what  he  was  doing  to 
the  tear-stained  face. 

When  the  door  was  pushed  open  Clem  felt  a 
distinct  shock.  What  would  Hulda  say  if  she 
could  see  that  room?  A  little  weather-stained 
window  with  panes  no  larger  than  your  hand 
let  in  a  filter  of  light  to  expose  the  naked  bare 
ness  of  the  four  walls.  A  thin  scuffed  carpet 
lay  here  and  there  on  the  floor  with  a  large 
gap  in  front  of  the  bureau.  The  aperture  in 
the  carpet  looked  as  if,  in  shame,  it  had  tried 
to  crawl  under  the  bureau,  but  hadn't  quite 
succeeded.  Ragged  eyes  stared  out  of  the 
wall-paper  where  furniture  had  been  shifted 
with  more  speed  than  care.  In  the  corner  op 
posite  stood  a  wash-stand,  leaning  weakly 
against  the  wall  for  support;  the  basin  was 
half  full  of  dirty  water.  A  fragment  of  elusive 
soap  had  slipped  down  to  the  floor.  Three  beds 
jammed  end  to  end  stood  at  bay,  like  wild 
creatures  in  a  cave. 


220  WHEN  TO  LO.CK  THE  STABLE 

Wouldn't  Hulda  make  things  fly  if  she  could 
get  in  that  room  for  an  hour?  You  wouldn't 
know  it.  Nobody  in  Curryville  could  touch 
her  when  it  came  to  keeping  things  slick  and 
shining;  everybody  said  so,  and  he  wouldn't 
be  afraid  to  put  her  up  against  the  whole  state. 

Clem  picked  up  the  soap,  between  forefinger 
and  thumb,  drawing  the  corner  of  his  mouth 
into  a  shiver,  and  dropped  the  coated  cake  out 
of  sight  behind  the  wash  bowl. 

"Is  this  a  thirty-five  cent  room?" 

"Un-hun,"  grunted  Tookie,  reaching  into 
his  mouth  and  scratching  a  layer  of  sticky 
candy  off  his  teeth. 

"What  are  the  'Good  Rooms  5oc'  like?" 

"Two  beds."  The  last  of  the  layer  was  off 
and  Tookie  rolled  it  with  satisfaction  on  his 
tongue. 

Clem  mentally  calculated:  this  room  was 
probably  only  a  third  worse  and  that  was  a 
clear  saving  of  fifteen  cents  a  day. 

Tookie  understood  the  hesitancy.  He  pulled 
his  teeth  apart  with  a  plop:  "But  I  hain't  got 
the  keys — they're  down-stairs." 


GETTING  A  JOB  221 

Tookie  swung  on  the  door-knob,  pushing 
back  his  red  hair  with  his  free  hand.  "I  came 
purty  near  making  some  money  out  of  this 
room  once,"  he  said  suddenly  without  con 
nection.  "A  lot  of  it." 

It  was  plain  what  Tookie  wanted.  Clem  was 
thinking  and  it  was  half  a  minute  before  he 
brought  himself  around  to  ask,  "How  was 
that?" 

"Sidna  Allen  slept  here  one  night,"  declared 
Tookie,  then  chewed  a  moment  before  finish 
ing,  "and  there  was  a  reward  on  his  head  all 
the  time.  I  didn't  know  who  it  was  till  a  week 
later,  but  I  seen  him  and  talked  to  him.  I  kind 
of  suspicioned  it  might  'a'  been  him  the  quick 
way  he  could  move  his  hands — draw  a  gun 
quicker'n  a  wink — like  that! — only  quicker. 
He  didn't  say  much,  but  his  eyes  could  just 
look  a  hole  through  you.  You  know,  I'm  going 
to  be  a  policeman.  A  policeman  gets  to  carry  a 
gun  all  the  time.  I  got  an  uncle  that  is  a  police 
man  and  he  has  an  ivory  handled  gun.  But 
that  don't  make  'em  shoot  any  straighter.  One 
time  he  was  cleaning  it  and  it  went  off  and 


222  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

shot  a  hole  in  the  baby  buggy."  Tookie  reached 
in  with  thumb  and  forefinger  and  pulled  the 
candy  loose  from  his  teeth.  Then  he  added  as 
an  afterthought,  and  as  if  it  was  too  bad  that 
things  had  turned  out  that  way.  "But  the  baby 
wasn't  in  it." 

Tookie  had  a  listener  and  that  was  all  he 
wanted.  His  mind  leaped  from  subject  to  sub 
ject  with  startling  rapidity.  "A  policeman  can 
save  lots  of  money  because  they  get  to  ride  on 
street-cars  free  of  charge.  Once  there  was  a 
man  killed  in  here — had  his  throat  cut.  The 
blood  leaked  clear  through  the  floor.  You  can 
see  the  marks  on  the  ceiling  in  the  room  below 
yet — want  to  go  down  and  see  it?  He  had  the 
bed  you're  sleeping  in  now.  He  was  about 
your  size,  too.  If  you  want  your  clothes 
pressed  I'll  take  them  down  for  you." 

Clem  smiled  bitterly — he  was  glad  that  he 
even  had  clothes  to  wear.  Clem  sat  down  on 
the  bed — leaked  clear  through  the  floor,  he 
could  not  help  remembering — to  think  for  a 
moment. 


GETTING  A  JOB  223 

"Drinkin'  water  at  the  end  of  the  hall,"  said 
Tookie.  Then  the  door  closed  and  Clem  was 
alone. 

Many  things  had  happened  since  the  night 
he  had  started  to  the  Owl  Drug  Store,  after  the 
sleeping  powders.  He  had  suffered  much  and 
evidently  the  end  was  not  yet;  had  suffered 
much  on  account  of  his  foolishness;  suffered 
because  he  wanted  to  be  a  hero  and  because  he 
had  not  appreciated  his  home — the  nicest 
cleanest  home  in  all  the  world. 

To-day  was  Tuesday,  and  about  this  time 
in  the  morning  Hulda  would  be  baking  and 
probably  this  minute  she  was  scraping  the 
dough-board.  Then  she  would  go  over  it  with 
a  damp  rag  and  put  it  out  on  the  shelf  to  sun. 
Mrs.  Kiggins  would  run  over  for  a  minute 
with  a  couple  of  roasting-ears.  How  Hulda 
could  fix  corn  on  the  cob.  She  never  left  any 
of  the  silk  on  the  way  Mrs.  Knabb  did. 

What  was  Miss  Mendenhall  doing?  Was 
she  sitting  at  the  window  on  the  second  floor, 
writing?  Had  she  ever  thought  of  him  since 


224  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

he  left  ?  Of  course  she  hadn't.  She  was  so  far 
above  him — but  he  just  couldn't  help  thinking 
of  her. 

What  had  he  got  out  of  it  all?  The  answer 
— nothing.  But  he  couldn't  go  back  until  he 
had  earned  enough  money  to  buy  some  clothes 
and  a  railroad  ticket,  so  that  Hulda  would  not 
be  ashamed.  He  was  further  away  from  being 
a  hero  than  ever  before.  He  would  have 
enough  to  live  down  coming  back  as  respect 
ably  as  he  could. 

This  wouldn't  get  him  anywhere  and  every 
minute  was  valuable  and  every  minute  in  a 
city  costs  money.  He  hurried  down-stairs  and 
was  passing  through  the  front  office  when 
some  one  called  out,  "Key!" 

The  girl  with  the  tousled  head  had  risen  and 
was  resting  her  elbows  on  the  counter,  one 
ringer  on  the  duke  who  had  drawn  his  glitter 
ing  blade  and  was  ready  to  defend  the  poor 
unfortunate  Lady  Lewellyn  with  his  very  life. 

"Leave  your  key,"  she  said  without  raising 
her  eyes. 

Clem  dropped  his  key  on  the  counter  and 


GETTING  A  JOB  225 

left  his  grace  to  fight  it  out  alone.  He  wan 
dered  out  into  the  street,  uncertain  which  way 
to  go,  where  to  turn,  looking  for  work.  Pedes 
trians  hurried  by,  always  gazing  at  something 
away  on  ahead  and  never  quite  catching  up 
with  it. 

A  bulletin-board  stood  straddled  on  the  side 
walk  at  the  foot  of  a  stairway.  According  to 
signs  chalked  in  three  colors  on  its  black  sur 
face  the  whole  world  was  needing  help;  was 
crying  for  it  and  couldn't  possibly  get  along 
more  than  a  few  hours  more  without  an  army 
of  recruits.  Carpenters,  bricklayers  and  paper- 
hangers  were  in  special  demand,  while  cabinet 
makers,  butlers  and  copper  workers  were 
urged  to  come  in  and  do  what  they  could  to 
stem  the  tide  of  demand. 

Clem  went  up  the  wooden  steps  and  stood 
before  a  large  woman  with  paper  cuffs  and  a 
pencil  in  her  hair.  ''What's  y'r  line?"  she  de 
manded,  reaching  for  the  pencil  anchored  in 
the  marcels. 

Clem  hesitated.  At  Curryville  he  was  cap 
tain  and  chief  of  the  fire  department,  caretaker 


226  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

of  the  Methodist  church,  owned  lots  in  the 
Bellows  Bottom,  had  been  secretary  of  the 
Poland  China  Association  for  two  years  and 
had  carried  rural  mail,  but  when  this  question 
was  thrust  at  him  he  realized  suddenly  and 
sadly  that  he  didn't  have  any  line. 

"I'm  good  at  general  all-round  work,"  he 
said  hesitatingly. 

"But  what's  y'r  line?"  the  large  woman  de 
manded,  as  if  saying,  "Another  of  them  thick 
heads.  Ain't  we  had  a  lot  of  'em  to-day?" 

"I  guess  it's  the  fire  department." 

"Y*  have  to  take  an  examination  and  wait 
for  an  appointment  in  that,"  the  large  woman 
explained  wearily,  rotating  the  paper  cuffs.  "If 
you  enroll  with  us  it's  five  dollars  and  ten  per 
cent,  the  first  month." 

Clem  did  not  have  the  money  to  enroll. 

"I  guess  I'll  just  look  around  a  little  by  my 
self,"  he  said,  turning  toward  the  stairs. 

The  woman  rattled  her  cuffs  and  smiled 
with  a  large  air  of  superiority.  "Come  back 
when  you  want  to  go  to  work,"  she  called, 
scratching  her  head  with  the  pencil. 


GETTING  A  JOB  227 

People  seemed  in  more  of  a  hurry  than  be 
fore  and  whatever  it  was  they  were  looking  at 
was  farther  away  than  ever. 

A  bell  rang  and  wheels  jarred  and  rattled. 
A  woman  screamed  and  somebody  jerked  Clem 
off  his  feet.  "Look  alive,  man!"  exclaimed  a 
voice  in  his  ear.  "Keep  your  wits  about  you 
or  you'll  be  ground  into  mincemeat.  That  car 
just  barely  missed  you." 

The  conductor  came  running  back,  note-book 
in  hand,  to  ask  if  he  had  been  hurt,  and  when 
he  found  that  he  wasn't,  he  grumbled  some 
thing  as  if  disappointed  and  turned  back  to  his 
car.  The  crowd  thinned  and  Clem  picked  his 
way  up  the  street,  watching  nervously  on  all 
sides. 

He  had  only  gone  a  block  when  he  stopped 
short  with  an  idea.  But  how  could  he  go  about 
carrying  it  out?  A  city  is  such  a  hard  place  in 
which  to  get  around.  Waving  a  passing  car,  he 
got  on  and  paid  his  fare.  The  conductor  was 
young  and  had  a  kindly  face.  Clem  started  to 
speak  to  him  twice  before  mustering  his  cour 
age. 


228  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

"Where  does  a  fellow  get  a  job  being  con 
ductor?" 

The  street-car  man  ran  his  eye  over  him. 
"You  don't  want  to  be  a  con.  It's  a  dog's  life, 
take  it  from  me.  Y'  hear  what  that  woman 
said  to  me  back  there  ?  Going  to  report  me  be 
cause  the  car  started  with  a  jerk  and  bumped 
her  elbow.  Stick  to  your  old  job  whatever 
it  is." 

"I  hain't  got  any  job." 

"Well,  if  you  just  must  have  a  car  go  up 
to  the  barn,  room  121,  and  get  your  specifi 
cations  taken.  Stick  on  here  and  I'll  transfer 
you  over." 

Clem  hurried  to  room  121.  Around  it  was 
a  railing  and  behind  the  counter  a  man  to  ask 
questions.  After  Clem  had  answered  the  ques 
tions  on  the  long  sheet  of  paper,  he  stood  up 
against  the  wall  and  the  man  balanced  a  ruler 
on  his  head  and  marked  down  his  height. 

"How  soon  can  I  go  to  work?"  asked  Clem. 

The  man  explained  that  he  would  be  put  in 
the  school  and  a  breaker-in  sent  out  with  him. 
Much  would  depend  on  the  report  of  the 


GETTING  A  JOB  229 

breaker-in.  Of  course  he  had  to  furnish  his 
own  uniform,  which  would  cost  twelve  dollars, 
and  probably  in  a  week  he  could  be  given  a 
run,  then  at  the  end  of  the  week  he  would 
get  his  salary.  Take  this  slip  and  report  this 
afternoon  for  measuring. 

Clem  folded  the  slip  and  went  out.  "You 
have  to  be  a  capitalist  before  you  can  become  a 
street-car  conductor,"  said  Clem  grimly,  and 
tore  up  the  slip. 

He  kept  on  the  same  side  of  the  street; 
crossing  the  car  tracks  was  dangerous.  You 
could  never  tell  when  you  were  going  to  be 
ground  into  mincemeat. 

At  last  he  found  a  park  seat  and  pushed 
back  into  its  luxury. 

Getting  a  foothold  in  the  city  was  harder 
than  he  had  ever  imagined.  If  you  were  not 
trained  to  do  one  thing  there  was  no  place 
for  you;  cogs  only  were  wanted.  It  would  be 
much  easier  to  go  back  to  Curryville  and  slip 
in  the  back  way,  without  word  of  explanation, 
but  Clem  squared  his  jaw  at  the  temptation 
and  said  more  determinedly  than  ever  that  he 


230  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

would  not  go  back  until  he  could  appear  un 
ashamed. 

A  newspaper  flapped  against  his  feet.  He 
picked  it  up  and  ran  his  eye  idly  down  the 
column.  It  was  opened  on  the  Help  Wanted 
page.  It  seemed  that  everybody  in  the  city 
needed  help,  and  yet  he  was  a  round  peg.  Peo 
ple  to  sell  things  were  most  in  demand.  He 
found  that  if  he  knew  the  paint  and  color 
trade,  had  had  exceptionally  wide  experience, 
understood  retailing,  was  able  to  sell  a  first- 
class  article  at  a  fair  price  to  jobbers  and  con 
sumers,  was  a  convincing  talker,  even  though 
not  what  you  might  call  fluent,  could  put  up  a 
natty  appearance,  had  a  pleasing  personality 
and  an  agreeable  manner  and  could  bring  with 
him  some  customers  he  could  get  twelve  dol 
lars  a  week  from  Bibstein  &  Brother,  third 
floor.  Clem  decided  that  since  his  experience 
had  been  entirely  local  and  since  he  was  not  up 
on  retailing  and  would  not  know  a  jobber  from 
a  consumer  if  he  met  him  on  the  street,  and 
that  since  he  was  handicapped  by  not  having 
the  slightest  idea  what  the  paint  and  color 


GETTING  A  JOB  231 

trade  was,  he  would  not  accept  the  stipend  of 
fered  by  Bibstein  &  Brother,  third  floor. 

The  advertisements  started  off  all  right,  but 
somewhere  in  them  he  always  found  a  set 
back.  The  Ideal  Corrugated  Box-Board  Com 
pany  simply  must  have  an  assistant  general 
manager  at  once.  They  had  been  looking 
around  for  the  right  man  for  some  time,  but 
a  live  wire  had  not  been  found.  The  assistant 
general  manager  must  be  honest,  upright  and  a 
hustler.  That  was  all  that  was  required  of 
him.  Previous  experience  wasn't  necessary, 
but  if  the  applicant  had  had  experience  all  the 
better;  still  if  you  were  honest  and  willing  to 
hustle  you  might  overcome  the  slight  draw 
back  of  lack  of  familiarity  with  the  corrugated 
box-board  business.  Clem  straightened  up  with 
interest.  It  was  true  that  he  had  never  before 
heard  of  the  corrugated  box-board  business, but 
he  was  certainly  honest,  upright  and  would 
hustle  from  morning  till  night,  and  with  such 
qualifications  in  his  favor  it  wouldn't  take  him 
long  to  pick  up  the  business.  Then  the  last 
line  caught  his  attention:  "To  such  a  man  we 


232  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

will  pay  a  small  salary  from  the  first,  provid 
ing  he  will  put  $3,000  into  the  business.  Ex 
ceptional  opportunity  for  the  right  man." 

Clem  sank  back  and  his  face  dropped.  No 
doubt  it  was  an  exceptional  opportunity,  but 
smiling  grimly  he  decided  not  to  apply.  Op 
portunity  would  have  to  knock  unheeded. 

He  was  crumpling  up  the  paper  to  toss  it 
aside  when  another  advertisement  caught  his 
eye:  "WANTED — Man  to  demonstrate  pat 
ent  fire-escape  belts;  they  make  escape  from  a 
burning  building  easy.  Exceptional  oppor 
tunity  for  the  right  man — The  Railey  Fire-Es 
cape  Belt  Company, — Surety  Trust  Building." 

Clem  read  it  carefully  again.  That  was  along 
his  line  and  who  should  be  better  fitted  to 
demonstrate  a  fire  belt  than  himself — a  fire 
chief?  The  idea  interested  him  and  aroused 
his  enthusiasm.  But  there  was  one  thing  about 
it  he  didn't  like:  he  had  begun  to  be  wary  of 
"an  exceptional  opportunity  for  the  right 
man." 

He  ragged  out  the  clipping  and  hurried  to 
the  address  given.  Stuffed  in  the  corner  of 


GETTING  A  JOB  233 

one  of  the  upper  halls  was  the  room,  cower 
ing  there  as  if  ready  to  put  on  a  belt  and  leap 
out  the  window.  A  tall  man  with  a  long  coat 
and  a  sad  air  rose  to  meet  him. 

"Are  you  the  right  man  looking  for  an  ex 
ceptional  opportunity  ?"  he  asked  sadly. 

"Yes,"  admitted  Clem. 

The  sad  man  waved  him  to  a  chair  and 
studied  him  for  a  minute.  "Do  you  realize," 
he  asked  with  the  sorrow  of  the  world  in  his 
voice,  "that  fire  destroys  more  lives  each  year 
than  any  other  agent  in  the  world  outside  of 
sickness?  Hundreds  are  hanged,  thousands  go 
down  in  the  ocean,  but  tens  of  thousands  are 
swept  off  this  earth  each  year  by  the  most  hor 
rible  death  known — fire.  Perhaps  you  have 
had  some  loved  one  snatched  out  of  your  arms 
into  the  jaws  of  this  terrible  monster ;  perhaps 
you  have  had  a  brother,  sister  or  sweetheart 
perish  just  beyond  your  finger-tips  for  the  lack 
of  a  safety  belt.  It  was  given  to  me  to  do 
something  for  the  world;  the  gift  came  in  the 
form  of  an  invention — the  Railey  Fire-Es 
cape — and  now  I  am  selling  this  marvelous  de* 


234  .WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

vice  for  a  startlingly  low  sum  that  other  people 
may  not  have  wives  and  daughters  and  sweet 
hearts  perish  before  their  eyes.  When  man 
mastered  fire  he  rose  above  the  animals;  but 
fire  has  always  been  a  surly  servant  and  still 
strikes  back,  cruelly,  relentlessly.  There  is  only 
one  escape  from  it — the  Railey  Belt.  You  are 
acquainted  with  the  workings  of  this  marvel 
ous  mechanism,  no  doubt?"  his  voice  rising 
sadly. 

Clem  shook  his  head,  while  Mr.  Railey  lifted 
a  surprised  brow. 

Mr.  Railey  rose,  spread  the  skirts  of  his 
coat  and  drew  down  a  canvas  belt  with  a  heavy 
buckle. 

"This  is  the  gift  that  came  to  me  in  a  dream. 
I  saw  it  all  in  a  flash,  arose  and  drew  the  plans 
for  it  before  I  lay  down  again.  Oh,  if  you 
could  see  the  countless  letters  I  have  here  from 
people  all  over  the  world — have  you  got  that 
one,  Minnie,  from  Tasmania,  where  the 
brother  said  it  saved  his  whole  family? — 
thanking  me  from  the  depths  of  his  heart  for 
his  own  life  and  the  lives  of  his  loved  ones.  I 


GETTING  A  JOB  235 

studied  for  the  ministry,  but  saving  people 
from  burning  office  buildings,  factories,  homes, 
houses  and  hotels  is  just  as  noble  as  saving 
them  from  the  lake  of  everlasting  fire.  See 
how  easily  it  is  adjusted." 

Seizing  Clem  by  the  shoulder  he  pivoted  him 
on  his  heel  and  swung  the  belt  around  his 
waist. 

"There,  it's  on.  Strong  as  a  cable  and  light 
as  a  feather.  Unhook  this  bottle  of  fire  liquid, 
break  it  and  it  gives  you,  in  crawling  toward 
the  window,  hydrogen  to  live  on  and  keeps  the 
smoke  and  flames  out  of  your  lungs  until  you 
can  get  to  the  open  air.  Then  throw  this  hook 
around  the  head  of  the  bed,  or  fasten  it  to  the 
casing  of  the  window  and  slide  down  this  thin 
steel  wire  to  safety,  regulating  your  speed  with 
this  lever  control.  A  grandfather  is  safe  and  a 
child  can  operate  it.  Here,  let  me  show  you. 
I  hook  it  under  the  casing,  now  crawl  out  that 
window  and  see  how  easily  it  works !" 

Mr.  Railey  in  his  enthusiasm  was  pushing 
Clem  toward  the  open  window. 

"I   see  how  it  works — perfectly,"   insisted 


236  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

Clem.  "Besides  it  makes  me  dizzy  to  hang 
out." 

Mr.  Railey  put  the  belt  away  a  bit  sadly, 
showing  plainly  by  his  manner  that  he  was  dis 
appointed  that  Clem  had  not  demonstrated  its 
wonderful  life-saving  qualities. 

"Adjusted  in  six  seconds  and  will  support 
three  people,"  said  Mr.  Railey,  as  if  quoting 
from  a  circular.  "May  be  kept  in  a  desk  or 
under  a  bookcase  and  if  hung  on  the  wall 
makes  an  attractive  ornament.  Can  not  burn 
or  drop  when  you  are  half-way  down;  no  cork 
to  become  rotten;  can  be  adjusted  with  one 
hand  while  holding  a  loved  one  in  the  other. 
The  only  belt  on  the  market  where  two  or 
more  can  escape  from  the  devouring  flames  at 
the  same  time.  A  complete  diagram  explaining 
its  adjustment  and  uses  accompanies  each  belt. 
You  may  not  need  it  to-morrow,  but  sometime 
you  will;  sooner  or  later  your  life  may  depend 
on  the  Railey  Fire-Escape  Belt.  Special  rates 
for  orders  of  more  than  a  dozen.  Now  Mr. — " 

"Craig—" 

" — Mr.  Craig,  do  you  think  you  would  like 


GETTING  A  JOB  237 

to  come  in  and  be  one  of  our  great  organiza 
tion  for  dispensing  this  useful  device  among 
the  people  of  this  city?  It  is  a  worthy  cause, 
an  occupation  in  which  you  can  lift  up  your 
head,  for  the  lives  of  some  of  these  very  peo 
ple  may  hang  on  you." 

Clem  glanced  around  as  if  trying  to  discover 
the  great  organization  for  dispensing  the  use 
ful  device. 

"We  have  our  agents  in  every  state  and  ter 
ritory.  This  morning  at  eight  o'clock  repre 
sentatives  went  out  in  every  large  city  in  the 
land,  including  Cuba  and  Canada,  to  bear  to 
the  unthinking  people  of  this  world  the  mes 
sage  of  the  Railey  Fire-Escape  Belt — that  you 
owe  it  to  your  loved  ones  to  protect  yourself. 
Selling  the  Railey  Fire-Escape  Belt  is  a  broad 
ening  occupation;  in  it  you  meet  the  best  and 
most  capable  men  in  the  business  world.  You 
sit  down  after  making  a  sale  and  chat  with 
them  about  business  and  the  affairs  of  the 
world."  He  lifted  up  a  hand  as  if  to  forestall 
any  interrogation.  "Not  if  you  tell  them  that 
they  owe  it  to  their  loved  ones." 


238  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

"How  much  wages  is  there?"  asked  Clem, 
thinking  more  about  himself  than  the  peril  of 
his  loved  ones. 

"Ah,  there  is  where  we  are  different,"  ex 
claimed  the  great  benefactor  and  inventor. 
"We  teach  you  an  occupation  and  actually  pay 
you  while  being  taught.  You  get  forty  per 
cent,  on  every  sale  made,  which  leaves  only 
sixty  per  cent,  to  me  for  inventing  and  manu 
facturing  the  belt."  Mr.  Railey  sighed  and 
dropped  his  voice  until  a  person  could  see  that 
money  was  the  last  thing  he  was  thinking  of 
so  long  as  the  Railey  Fire-Escape  Belt  was  car 
ried  to  the  loved  ones. 

"This  booklet,  What  to  Say  to  a  Prospec 
tive  Customer,  is  a  course  in  salesmanship. 
It  tells  how  to  prepare  the  mind  of  the 
prospective  customer,  how  to  fasten  his 
attention,  how  to  meet  and  overcome  his  ob 
jections,  how  to  be  affable,  when  to  be  firm, 
and  how  to  clench  the  sale.  It  contains  valuable 
pointers  on  how  to  carry  on  an  entertaining 
conversation,  how  to  dress  and  how  to  deport 
yourself  as  a  gentleman.  I  have  dozens  of  let- 


GETTING  A  JOB  239 

ters — where  is  that  one,  Minnie,  from  the  man 
in  New  Zealand  ? — saying  that  this  book,  with 
the  training  one  gets  in  meeting  the  world,  is 
equal  to  a  college  education.  All  the  time  you 
are  working  at  this  you  may  know  that  you 
are  doing  something  that  the  Good  Book  com 
manded  you  to  do,  for  does  not  Jude,  brother 
of  James,  say,  'And  others  save  with  fear, 
pulling  them  out  of  the  fire  ?'  Every  time  you 
sell  a  Railey  Fire-Escape  Belt  you  may  know 
that  you  have  pulled  some  one  out  of  the  fire. 
In  a  quiet  unassuming  way  you  are  a  hero." 

Clem  straightened  up;  he  hadn't  thought  of 
it  in  just  that  light  before.  Hypnotized  by  the 
flowing  words  of  the  inventor  he  was  saying, 
before  he  realized  it,  that  he  would  accept  the 
place  and  that  he  would  take  What  to  Say  to 
a  Prospective  Customer  home  with  him,  study 
it  and  be  around  in  the  morning  to  go  out  and 
get  his  college  training. 

Selling  the  famous  belt  was  hard  work — 
even  after  he  had  mastered  "What  to  Say," 
and  committed  the  answers  to  the  questions. 
People  did  have  a  way  of  asking  questions 


240  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

that  were  not  in  the  book.  Clem  tramped  from 
office  building  to  office  building,  trying  to 
prove  to  the  poor  benighted  workers  that  their 
loved  ones  were  not  sufficiently  protected  by 
the  outside  iron  fire-escapes,  demonstrating 
that  the  Railey  Fire  Belt  could  be  adjusted 
with  one  hand,  that  it  would  support  three  peo 
ple  with  perfect  safety  and  that  hanging  on 
the  wall  it  was  an  ornament  to  any  office, 
home,  house  or  hotel. 

Slowly  his  money  accumulated  and  in  his 
trampings  he  had  seen  in  a  shop-window  just 
the  suit  of  clothes  he  wanted.  Hulda  always 
liked  blue  with  a  white  stripe.  He  would  buy  a 
genuine  Panama,  too,  with  the  genuineness 
stamped  in  the  leather  lining  and  he  would 
get  one  of  those  traveling-bags  that  buckled 
away  over  on  the  side. 

He  came  into  his  hotel  tired  and  worn.  The 
boy  was  still  driving  the  four-color  harvester 
around  the  golden  brown  wheat  field  and  Wil 
liam  J.  Bryan,  our  Peerless  Leader,  kept  his 
gaze  unwaveringly  on  the  key  box. 

Clem  dropped  on  his  bed  where  the  man 


GETTING  A  JOB  241 

had  had  his  throat  cut,  and  was  just  slipping 
into  a  doze  when  there  was  a  knock. 

"Brought  you  a  clean  towel,"  said  Tookie, 
entering. 

Instead  of  throwing  it  over  the  top  of  the 
little  wash-stand,  Tookie  handed  it  to  Clem. 

"You  got  blue  eyes,  hain't  you?"  fired 
Tookie  suddenly. 

"Yes,  I  guess  so.   Why?" 

"NothinV  Do  you  believe  that  after  a  per 
son  has  committed  a  crime  they  like  to  come 
back  and  hang  around  the  place  where  the 
heinous  deed  was  committed?" 

"I  don't  know,"  returned  Clem  wearily, 
leaning  back  against  the  wall. 

"That's  what  it  says  in  the  papers  about 
criminals.  I  always  read  about  mysterious 
murders — a  policeman's  got  to  do  it.  A  police 
man  gets  to  eat  bananas  and  peaches  off  a  ped- 
ler's  cart  free  of  charge. 

"I'm  always  on  the  lookout  for  the  fellow 
to  come  back  that  cut  that  man's  throat  in 
your  bed.  The  blood  leaked  clear  through  the 
floor.  You  can't  never  get  blood  stains  out.  I 


242  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

could  trade  for  an  automatic  revolver  if  I 
wanted  to.  Mine's  a  six-cylinder,  but  you  have 
to  pull  for  every  barrel.  You're  about  five  feet, 
ten,  ain't  you?" 

Clem  shifted  his  knees  uneasily  and  ad 
mitted  that  he  was. 

"There's  another  fatal  fascination,  too. 
They  want  to  carry  something  around  to  re 
mind  them  of  the  murder.  Sometimes  it's  a 
collar  button,  sometimes  it's  a  lock  of  hair  and 
sometimes  it's  a  newspaper  clippin'  describin' 
how  the  heinous  deed  was  committed.  If  you 
want  anything,  go  out  to  the  button  in  the  hall 
and  ring." 

Tookie  pulled  the  door  behind  him;  Clem 
dropped  back  on  his  elbow.  Things  were  stir 
ring  in  his  head.  What  did  the  boy  mean  ?  He 
felt  in  his  pocket  and  caught  his  breath.  Care 
fully  he  ran  through  old  letters,  clippings  and 
scraps  of  paper,  crumpled  and  soiled.  He  had 
lost  the  clipping  about  the  mysterious  murder 
that  Brassy  had  found  in  the  Harrison  paper, 
with  a  description  of  himself  and  an  announce 
ment  of  the  reward ! 


GETTING  A1  JOB  243 

A  knuckle  rattled  on  the  door  and  Tookie's 
high  voice  called  out:  "Mr.  Pointer —  Mr. 
Pointer—" 

"Yes,"  answered  Clem  quickly,  then  gasped 
with  an  audible  intake  of  breath. 

"Telephone  call."  Tookie's  head  appeared 
inside  the  door.  "Oh,  it's  you,  Mr.  Craig. 
Your  room  mate  hasn't  got  back  yet,  has  he? 
If  he  comes  up-stairs  without  anybody  seeing 
him  will  you  tell  him  there  was  a  call  for  him  ? 
Don't  'be  afraid  to  ring  if  you  need  me — Mr. 
Craig." 

When  the  door  closed  Clem  found  himself 
breathing  hard.  He  was  discovered.  The  bit 
terness  of  it  forced  itself  in  on  him.  He  was 
trying  to  earn  a  few  honest  dollars  so  that  he 
could  go  back  home  and  now  they  were  ready 
to  swoop  down  on  him  for  the  reward,  alive 
or  dead.  He  could  rush  to  Curryville  ahead  of 
them  except  that  he  didn't  have  the  money  for 
car  fare  and  he  wouldn't  go  back  until  he  could 
return  with  high  head. 

One  thing  certain,  he  must  escape  at  once. 

Gathering  his  hat  he  crept  down  the  stairs 


244  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

as  quietly  as  he  could,  pausing  on  every  land 
ing  and  listening.  From  the  last  landing  he 
could  see  the  tousled  head  still  bending  over 
the  distressed  lady.  A  step  at  a  time  he  edged 
down  the  last  flight  and  turned  into  the  bath 
room.  From  here  he  reconnoitered  a  moment, 
then  tiptoed  toward  the  side  door. 

A  figure  came  in  the  side  door,  looming 
ahead  of  him. 

"Upon  my  blazing  soul,"  exclaimed  the 
man,  rushing  at  him  with  extended  hands. 
"By  jooks !  the  goldfish  need  a  bath  if  it  ain't 
my  old  college  chum  of  the  calaboose,  Clem 
Pointer!" 

It  was  Brassy. 

Clem  drew  back,  working  his  fingers  nerv 
ously,  and  felt  for  the  wall  as  if  for  support. 
"Hist !"  sounded  Clem,  clapping  a  finger  to  his 
lips. 

Brassy  felt  for  Clem's  hand  and  pumped  it 
vigorously.  "Beat  my  grandmother  with  a 
broom  handle,  but  I'm  glad  to  see  you !  Ain't  it 
luck,  both  of  us  coming  here  to  the  Waldorf 
Astoria  together!" 


GETTING  A  JOB  245 

Before  Clem  could  edge  in  a  word  a  voice 
sounded  behind  him.  "Move  at  the  peril  of 
your  life !"  It  was  Tookie,  and  in  his  hand  was 
a  six-cylinder  revolver  that  had  to  be  pulled  for 
every  barrel. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  THIRD  DEGREE 

Tookie  crept  up  on  Clem  until  the 
barrel  was  within  a  few  inches  of  his 
face.  "So,  my  man,  you  were  trying  to  slip  out, 
was  you?"  asked  Tookie  in  the  tones  that  the 
papers  quoted  policemen  as  using  on  such  oc 
casions.  "You  would  try  to  trick  me,  try  to 
foil  the  law,  would  you?  C.  L.  Pointer,  you 
will  pay  the  penalty.  Move  and  I'll  send  this 
bullet  crushing  through  your  craven  skull. 
Move  at  peril  of  your  life." 

"Say,"  exclaimed  Brassy,  "be  careful  of  that 
thing — it  might  go  off!" 

Tookie  rolled  the  weapon  till  it  hung  half 
way  between  the  two.  "Who  are  you  to  inter 
fere  with  the  law?  Perhaps  you  are  an  ac 
complice  of  this  desperate  outlaw  on  whose 
head  a  reward  is  set.  Ah,  perhaps  I  have 
246 


THE  THIRD  DEGREE  247 

come  upon  a  den!  Up  against  the  wall,  both 
of  you;  hands  up!  The  first  that  moves  is 
a  dead  man." 

Clem  fitted  his  shoulders  to  the  wall. 

"By  jooks!"  broke  in  Brassy.  "Of  course 
this  is  none  of  my  party,  but  may  I  make  bold 
enough  to  inquire  what  all  this  is  about?" 

"Against  the  wall,  my  man!"  commanded 
Tookie  in  his  "deepest  tones. 

Brassy  squared  his  shoulders  against  the 
wall  and  reluctantly  raised  his  hands. 

"Kind  sir,"  pleaded  Brassy,  "would  you 
mind  giving  me  some  of  the  details?  This  is 
kind  of  sudden,  you  know.  If  you  want  to 
frisk  me  let  me  put  down  my  mitts  and  I'll  do 
all  I  can  to  help  the  cause  along.  If  you  can 
get  anything  out  of  my  pockets  you'll  be  put 
ting  one  over  on  yours  truly.  Do  you  work 
this  section  regularly?" 

"I'm  a  representative  of  the  law,"  exclaimed 
Tookie,  "and  there  is  a  reward  for  this  man, 
dead  or  alive.  Like  all  criminals  he  carried 
something  to  remind  him  of  it.  I  found  the 
clipping  this  morning  that  told  all  about  it." 


248  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

A  light  of  understanding  ran  through 
Brassy's  mind.  "Oh,  I  see.  You're  holding 
this  gentleman  up  and  were  going  to  take  him 
back  and  I  happened  along  and  you  stuck  me 
up  for  good  measure." 

"Wasn't  you  talking  with  him?" 

"Sure,  I  was.  Oh,  say,  bo,  that's  one  on 
you!"  an  idea  leaping  into  Brassy's  mind. 
"You  got  my  man.  I  have  been  shadowing 
him  for  two  weeks.  I  flushed  him  first  at  Har 
rison  and  have  been  on  his  trail  ever  since.  I 
hadn't  closed  up  on  him,  as  I  wanted  to  see  if 
he  had  an  accomplice  in  this  city.  Now,  ain't  it 
a  coincidence — you  sticking  up  my  man  ?" 

Tookie's  gun  began  to  sag.  "Are  you  a  de 
tective?"  he  asked,  his  eyes  widening. 

"Just  look  at  that !"  putting  his  tongue  in  his 
left  cheek. 

"What  does  that  mean?" 

"It's  the  sign — so  detectives'll  know  one 
another.  When  it's  in  a  dark  room  and  where 
they  can't  see  one  another  they  do  it  by  touch 
— I'll  show  you." 

Tookie  lowered  his  weapon  hesitatingly  and 


THE  THIRD  DEGREE  249 

extended  an  unarmed  hand.  Brassy  turned  his 
back  to  Clem  so  that  he  could  not  see  the  sign 
and  pressed  the  tips  of  two  fingers  on  the  back 
of  Tookie's  hand.  "What  part  of  the  law  do 
you  represent?"  asked  Brassy. 

"Well,  I  ain't  really  any  of  it  yet,  but  I  am 
studying  to  be  a  policeman.  Policemen  make 
lots  of  money  and  get  to  ride  on  street-cars 
free  of  charge." 

Brassy's  face  became  serious  and  he  tapped 
his  forehead  with  a  ringer,  turning  some  grave 
problem  over.  "Have  you  got  a  license  for 
carrying  that?"  asked  Brassy,  nodding  toward 
the  sagging  revolver. 

Tookie  shook  his  head,  coloring  deeply. 

Brassy  bit  his  lips  thoughtfully,  and  beck 
oned  the  young  officer  of  the  law  to  step  into 
the  bathroom.  The  two  stepped  inside,  while 
Clem  sat  down  wondering  what  Brassy  was  up 
to.  When  the  two  came  back  Tookie's  six- 
cylinder  agent  of  destruction,  that  had  to  be 
pulled  for  every  barrel,  was  out  of  sight. 
Tookie's  eyes  followed  Brassy  eagerly  and  ad 
miringly. 


250  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

"I  can  see  now  how  your  eyes  bore  right 
through  people,"  breathed  Tookie.  "How 
many  people  have  you  killed,  Mr.  Pinkerton  ?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  returned  Brassy  with 
modesty.  "Never  a  single  one  unless  I  just 
had  to.  There's  generally  some  way  of  getting 
around  it.  The  best  sleuths  don't  do  it — unless 
they're  driven  to  it." 

"I  saw  them  taking  finger-marks  once.  Do 
you  think  I  would  make  a  good  policeman?" 

Brassy  turned  his  boring  eyes  upon  Tookie. 
They  ran  up  and  down  Tookie,  taking  in  the 
smallest  detail  of  his  dress,  analyzing  his  face, 
feature  by  feature.  They  took  in  the  width  be 
tween  his  eyes,  the  thickness  of  his  thumb — 
everything.  Then  Brassy  asked  an  anxious 
question : 

"Can  you  remember  faces?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Tookie  quickly.  "I  can  see 
a  man  once  and  I'd  know  him  if  I  didn't  see 
him  again  for  forty  years." 

"Are  you  afraid  to  go  out  alone  at  night  ?" 

"No,  I  ain't  afraid  at  all.    Nothing  scares 


THE  THIRD  DEGREE  251 

me.  Once  there  was  a  man  murdered  here  and 
the  blood  soaked  clear  through  the  floor.  I 
wasn't  afraid  to  look  at  it.  Would  you  like  to 
come  up  and  see  where  it  soaked  through  ?" 

Brassy  thought  that  he  could  get  along  with 
out  this  choice  experience,  as  he  had  seen  so 
much  gore  spilled  that  it  had  sort  of  lost  its 
attraction  for  him.  However,  he  appreciated 
his  friend's  thought  fulness  in  mentioning  it 
and  his  kindness  in  offering  to  show  it. 

"You  seem  to  have  every  qualification  neces 
sary,"  said  Brassy  thoughtfully,  "to  become  a 
well-known  policeman.  But  there  is  one  very 
important  thing  that  I  have  not  asked  you. 
Much  depends  on  your  answer.  This  is  it:  Can 
you  keep  a  secret?  If  the  chief  of  police  tells 
you  that  a  gang  is  planning  a  bank  robbery, 
for  instance,  and  details  you  to  keep  your  eye 
open  for  suspicious  characters  hanging  around 
the  bank  before  the  deed  is  committed,  could 
you  keep  all  that  a  secret  until  after  everything 
was  over?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  returned  Tookie  eagerly.    "You 


252  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

could  not  get  a  word  out  of  me  if  I  was  told 
not  to  tell.  In  school  I  wouldn't  ever  tell  the 
teacher  anything." 

Brassy's  face  lit  up  hopefully,  every  feature 
showing  satisfaction  that  Tookie  had  come 
through  the  grilling  test  satisfactorily.  "Well, 
I  am  goin'  to  try  you  out.  If  you  pull  through 
this  you  ought  to  make  a  lieutenant.  A  lieu 
tenant  gets  to  go  to  the  shows  free  of  charge, 
you  know.  It's  lots  better  to  be  a  lieutenant 
of  police.  Now  I'm  goin'  to  put  you  to  the  test. 
If  you  keep  this  secret  successfully  I'll  recom 
mend  you  myself."  Brassy  paused  and  looked 
at  Tookie  for  a  long  moment,  then  asked  im 
pressively,  "Do  you  know  what  it  means  to 
be  recommended  by  me?" 

Tookie  jerked  his  head  back  and  forth  at 
prospect  of  the  great  honor. 

"Here  is  a  secret  for  you  to  keep.  Don't 
say  a  word  about  me  catchin'  this  man  for  a 
week — a  week  from  to-night — five  forty-six.  I 
don't  want  the  public  to  know  about  it  until 
the  blotter  has  been  made  out.  You  under 
stand  about  the  blotter,  don't  you?" 


THE  THIRD  DEGREE  253 

"Yes,"  hesitated  Tookie,  hating  to  admit 
that  a  person  so  well  qualified  for  police  work 
should  not  know  all  about  the  blotter,  and  why 
he  should  not  breathe  a  word  about  it  to  any 
living  human  for  a  week. 

Brassy  made  an  excuse  to  go  behind  the 
budding  lieutenant  and  gave  Clem  a  giant 
wink. 

"Now,  I  will  take  my  catch  down  to  quart 
ers,  and  put  him  in  the  third-degree  room  for 
a  while.  Glad  to  know  you — see  you  to-mor 
row." 

Tookie  thrilled  to  the  touch  of  two  finger 
tips  on  the  back  of  his  hand,  and  stood  with 
his  nose  pressed  against  the  screen  as  prisoner 
and  detective  walked  off  down  the  street. 

"Gee!"  he  breathed,  "think  of  getting  into 
all  the  shows,  too." 

"Pinch  me,  pinch  me!"  exclaimed  Brassy, 
as  soon  as  they  were  out  of  hearing.  "At  first 
you  didn't  recognize  Mr.  Hagan,  late  of  the 
Harrison  calaboose,  in  the  role  of  William  J. 
Burns,  did  you?  Little  did  you  dream  when 
we  first  met  in  the  side-door  Pullman  that  I 


254  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

was  the  esteemed  Mr.  Pinkerton  travelin'  in 
disguise.  Can  I  trust  you  with  a  secret?  I  was 
not.  I  repeat  it,  pinch  me,  pinch  me!  Before 
I  throw  my  arms  around  your  shoulders  for 
pure  government  test,  bottled-in-bond  joy  and 
make  a  scene  here  on  the  street,  tell  me  what 
you're  doing." 

"I'm  working  and  saving  up  my  money,"  re 
plied  the  late  outlaw. 

"At  what?" 

"I'm  selling  the  Railey  Fire-Escape  Belt," 
answered  Clem,  dropping  his  head. 

"The  what?  Pinch  me,  pinch  me!  Maybe 
after  all  I  stepped  in  too  quick  ahead  of  the 
lieutenant.  I'm  sorry  if  I  have  interfered  with 
the  course  of  the  law.  If  I  hadn't  cut  it  strictly 
out  I'd  come  around  and  get  a  few  pointers, 
but  them  days  are  all  over  for  me  now.  I  went 
home  and  the  thread  of  hope  is  still  unbroken. 
The  girl's  gone — but  my  wife  still  believes  in 
me — and  by  a  gnat's  heel  she's  not  going  to  be 
disappointed."  Real  earnestness  lay  under  the 
light  words. 


THE  THIRD  DEGREE  255 

"How  in  the  world  do  you  come  to  be  here?" 
Clem  put  in  at  the  first  chance. 

"I  hadn't  any  more'n  lit  on  the  sweetest  spot 
in  the  world — the  climbing  vines  are  all  over 
the  front  porch  now — than  I  got  word  to  come 
down  here  and  spend  a  few  days  in  the  factory 
learning  how  the  Universal  Hog  Medicine  is 
made  and  take  the  regular  course  of  training 
for  salesmen.  Before  me  hogs'll  be  layin' 
around  in  droves,  no  color  in  their  eyes,  their 
foreheads  feverish  and  no  pulse  to  speak  of; 
as  quick  as  I  pass  by  with  that  sovereign 
remedy — the  Universal  Hog  Cholera  Cure — 
the  poor  creatures  will  spring  to  their  feet,  all 
energy  and  ambition,  a  new  light  in  their  eyes, 
their  pulses  leaping  with  the  blood  of  youth, 
determined  to  live  on  and  weigh  in  at  three 
fifty. 

"What  is  the  backbone  of  our  country? 
The  answer  is — hogs.  Also  the  side-meat,  but 
passing  over  that,  did  you  ever  stop  to  think 
about  a  million  of  poor  pigs  born  in  this 
country  every  year  and  of  how  few  of  them 


256  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

reach  maturity?  The  poor  little  creatures  are 
full  of  the  zest  of  living — at  first ;  they  bounce 
up  and  whirl  around  on  their  four  little  pins, 
nibble  one  another's  ears  and  punch  their  pa 
tient  parent  in  the  abdomen  with  their  little 
pink  noses,  enjoying  every  breath.  Then  one 
day  a  shadow  comes  into  their  lives.  One  of 
the  happy  family  loses  its  appetite;  the  sight 
of  the  others  all  lined  up,  their  thin  tongues 
out  getting  their  supper,  turns  its  stomach. 
The  light  dies  in  its  eyes  and  it  refuses  to  play 
and  romp  with  its  merry  brothers  and  sisters. 
Its  nose  becomes  stopped  up ;  a  low  dry  cough 
sets  in  and  its  flanks  sag  in  like  a  carpet  on  the 
line. 

"Then  one  day  two  of  its  brothers  in 
romping  stumble  over  its  cold  body;  not 
knowing  what  to  make  of  it  they  rush  to  their 
mother.  She  colors  and  gasps  and  leads  them 
rapidly  away  in  the  opposite  direction.  The 
following  day  another  one  of  the  happy  group 
begins  to  cough  and  one  by  one  they  are  car 
ried  away,  till  at  last  the  mother  is  alone  in 
the  world, grief-stricken  and  childless.  Nothing 


THE  THIRD  DEGREE  257 

has  been  done  to  keep  the  loved  ones  at  her 
side;  she  sticks  her  nose  in  the  dust  on  the 
south  side  of  the  pen,  fills  her  lungs  time  after 
time  till  at  last  she — a  broken-hearted  suicide — 
follows  her  offspring  to  that  bourne  from 
which  no  pig  ever  returns.  Now,  is  it  not 
a  noble  mission  to  bear  to  the  suffering  world 
that  peerless  compound,  the  Universal  Hog 
Cholera  Cure,  nature's  own  remedy,  made 
from  herbs,  roots  and  extractions,  containing 
no  poison,  prussic  acid  or  antimony,  large  size 
one  dollar,  small  fifty  cents?" 

Clem  gathered  from  the  few  grains  in  the 
verbal  chaff  that  Brassy  was  taking  the  course 
of  training  for  salesmen  and  that  he  had  really 
given  up  the  old  life. 

"Where'll  we  stay  to-night  ?"  asked  Clem. 

"I  don't  feel  anything  calling  me  back  there, 
do  you?  If  your  bed  was  like  mine  you 
won't  wake  up  in  the  night  and  cry  for  it.  Did 
you  leave  any  of  your  jew'lry?" 

"All  of  it,  I  reckon,  since  I  haven't  got  it 
with  me,"  returned  Clem. 

"We'll  not  show  up  there  again.   One  thing 


258  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

certain,  and  that  is  the  young  sleuth  won't 
breathe  a  word  about  it  for  a  week  and  then 
we'll  be  safe." 

Together  they  found  a  hotel  for  the  night. 

"They're  going  to  send  me  out  on  the  road 
to-morrow  to  sell  Nature's  Own  Remedy," 
said  Brassy,  as  they  hung  their  coats  over  the 
backs  of  chairs,  and  piled  into  bed.  "I  don't 
know  where  I'll  land  first — some  forsaken 
hole,  I  suppose.  But  anyway,  it's  on  the  square 
and  that's  the  routing  for  me  from  now  on. 
Say,  bo,  don't  it  seem  queer  for  us  to  be  turn 
ing  in  together  without  Gib,  the  trusted  turn 
key?  I'd  like  to  go  back  and  sell  him  a  car 
load  of  Universal!" 


CHAPTER  XV 

A   TROUBLED   CONSCIENCE 

MRS.  Kiggins  had  dropped  in  to  see  Hulda. 
She  had  run  in  the  back  way,  for  on  bak 
ing  morning  there  is  nothing  worse  than  to 
have  parlor  company. 

"Take  that  chair  there,"  said  Hulda,  waving 
her  elbow  toward  a  chair  whose  seat  had  been 
made  by  the  weaving  and  interweaving  of 
leather  boot-tops  cut  into  strips  the  width  of  an 
apple  peeling.  "It's  gettin'  kind  of  rickety 
since  Clem  joined  the  great  majority.  He  was 
layin'  out  to  fix  it,  but  hadn't  got  around  to 
it.  He  could  fix  anything.  Handiest  man 
around  the  house  I  ever  saw.  It's  terrible  the 
way  I  get  this  crust  now.  The  handle's  been 
off  this  rolling  pin  for  a  week  and  I  get  every 
thing  wobsidled.  Clem  could  fix  it  in  a  minute. 
One  thing  I'm  doing  he  would  like,  I  know, 
259 


260  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

and  that  is  keeping  Garibaldi  for  him.  I  hated 
him  like  pizen  at  first,  but  he  is  really  awfully 
cute  and  as  full  of  mischief  as  a  gourd  is  of 
seeds.  It  still  makes  me  a  little  mad  when  he 
throws  my  dishes  on  the  floor.  That's  the 
worst  habit  he's  got,  though,  except  jumpin' 
on  my  back  when  I  ain't  thinkin'  and  scarin' 
me  to  death." 

"He  was  a  good  man,  Miss  Pointer.  No 
body  in  this  whole  town'd  be  missed  the  way  he 
is.  He  never  said  much — just  kind  of  smiled 
and  was  gentle  and  dreamy — but  Mr.  Kiggins 
was  sayin'  just  yesterday  he  would  give  any 
thing  to  have  an  old-fashioned  talk  with  Clem. 
I  can  see  him  just  like  it  was  now,  the  way  he 
reached  over  and  pointed  down  into  the 
water." 

"But  they  didn't  tell  him  about  it  before  he 
went,"  said  Hulda,  as  if  speaking  to  herself. 
She  reached  for  the  rolling  pin,  powdered  it 
with  dry  dough,  and  flattened  out  the  cuttings. 
"All  comes  of  not  knowing  when  to  tell  peo 
ple  you  love  them — when  to  lock  the  stable." 
Her  lips  ran  over  the  sentence  to  herself,  then, 


A  TROUBLED  CONSCIENCE     261 

as  if  strengthening  her  judgment,  repeating  it 
in  a  half  whisper. 

As  the  days  dragged  out  Rencie's  unending 
search  for  his  former  friend  went  on.  He  kept 
his  badge  bright  and  his  eyes  eager. 

There  was  little  evidence  at  first,  but  there 
never  was  much,  according  to  the  books.  One 
clue  was  enough  and  he  had  that — the  watch- 
charm  belonging  to  Doctor  Fordyce,  which  he 
himself  had  found  on  the  river  bank  after 
Clem's  disappearance. 

He  had  never  liked  Doctor  Fordyce.  The 
doctor  had  been  in  Curryville  only  a  short  time 
and  few  knew  anything  about  him.  Rencie 
dodged  at  his  heel  day  after  day,  but  nothing 
ever  came  of  it.  If  Doctor  Fordyce  was  guilty 
he  did  not  show  it  by  word  or  glance.  He 
seemed  to  have  nothing  on  his  mind,  but  that 
was  only  the  way  with  accomplished  crooks. 
Although  Rencie  had  little  to  build  on,  and  less 
to  feed  his  suspicion  on,  he  did  not  slacken  his 
efforts  to  fasten  the  crime  on  Curryville's  new 
est  doctor. 

There  was  one  perplexing  question  that  con- 


262  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

stantly  rose  up  before  Rencie — what  possible 
motive  could  Doctor  Fordyce  have  had  ?  There 
always  must  be  a  motive — all  books  said  that. 
One  day  in  sifting  out  possible  motives 
Hulda's  words  about  the  lots  in  the  Bellows 
Bottom  flashed  over  him. 

That  solved  it — Doctor  Fordyce  wished  to 
get  Clem's  lots  so  that  he  could  go  ahead  with 
the  factory.  Once  more  Rencie  began  to 
shadow  Doctor  Fordyce.  As  this  brought  no 
evidence,  he  decided  to  make  a  search  of  Doc 
tor  Fordyce's  room  at  the  New  Palace.  As  he 
strolled  into  the  lobby  he  noticed  that  there  was 
a  new  clerk  on  duty.  Rencie  knew  that  he 
could  get  past  him  and  up  the  stairway  and 
then  let  himself  into  Doctor  Fordyce's  room 
with  a  pass-key,  but  that  wouldn't  be  the  way  a 
real  detective  would  work.  So  he  waited  until 
later  in  the  evening,  slipped  around  behind  the 
building  and  climbed  up  the  gutter  pipe — the 
way  any  detective  would  do.  Panting,  he  slid 
over  the  window-ledge  into  the  room. 

It  did  not  look  much  like  a  doctor's  room. 
There  were  several  unopened  cases  in  the  cor- 


A  TROUBLED  CONSCIENCE     263 

ner,  evidently  containing  medicine.  Bottles  of 
all  sizes  were  piled  on  one  window-sill,  with 
a  row  of  medical  books  on  the  mantelpiece. 
Retorts  and  beakers  stood  backed  in  a  corner ; 
suits  were  piled  over  chairs,  a  suit-case  with  the 
lid  half  closed  sulked  in  the  corner,  the  slit 
looking  like  a  great  gashed  mouth.  In  the 
drawer  of  the  bureau  were  some  letter-heads 
with  the  name  of  a  Kansas  City  development 
syndicate  on  them,  and  on  a  table  in  the  mid 
dle  of  the  room  for  everybody  to  see  was  a 
glass  case  of  silver  medical  instruments. 

Rencie  turned  to  one  thing  after  another, 
looking  through  the  drawers,  examining  the 
dust  on  top  of  the  windows,  opening  the  medi 
cal  books  and  putting  his  nose  in  the  beakers 
in  truly  professional  style.  He  could  not  have 
told  sulphuric  acid  from  benzine,  but  that  was 
the  way  they  always  did  in  books.  He  fum 
bled  along  under  the  mantelpiece,  but  no  secret 
door  swung  open. 

He  was  just  on  the  point  of  slipping  out 
when  his  eyes  fell  upon  a  pair  of  gold-rimmed 
spectacles,  bent  and  twisted.  He  recognized 


264  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

them  at  a  glance — Clem's.  He  drew  back, 
catching  in  his  breath  sharply,  startled  by  his 
discovery.  This  was  more  than  he  was  count 
ing  on.  "Smashed  in  the  fight,"  he  breathed 
heavily.  He  paused,  trembling  at  this  evidence 
of  the  doctor's  guilt.  The  seriousness  of  his 
discovery  overwhelmed  him  and  he  trembled  at 
what  it  would  lead  to.  It  flashed  over  him 
that  possibly  Doctor  Fordyce  could  explain  it, 
but  when  he  righted  himself  he  knew  that  there 
was  only  one  explanation — and  that  made  his 
hand  tremble  so  that  he  had  to  put  down  the 
glasses. 

A  step  was  heard  in  the  hall ;  it  was  coming 
toward  the  room  he  was  in.  A  hand  fumbled 
for  the  knob  and  a  key  rattled  against  the  door 
nosing  for  the  hole.  It  was  the  doctor  re 
turning. 

Rencie  looked  desperately  around  for  a 
means  to  escape.  He  could  not  possibly  get 
to  the  window,  open  it  and  make  good  his  es 
cape  before  the  person  would  be  in  on  him. 

His  mind  leaped  back  over  the  books  he 
had  read  but  not  one  of  them  told  how  to  es- 


A  TROUBLED  CONSCIENCE     265 

cape  when  the  suspected  person  unexpectedly 
returned.  It  simply  wasn't  done  in  the  best 
detective  books.  Usage  had  sanctioned  it 
the  other  way  about — the  sleuth  should  always 
come  upon  the  guilty  person  gazing  fascinated 
at  evidence  of  his  crime  and  not  the  criminal 
return  and  find  the  inspector  gathering  evi 
dence — especially  when  the  detective  didn't 
have  his  trusty  Derringer  with  him.  But 
usage  didn't  keep  the  key  from  grating  in  the 
lock. 

Rencie  looked  wildly  around  the  room  for 
some  means  of  escape.  The  closet  was  big, 
but  he  was  certain  to  be  trapped  in  it.  A 
thought  rushed  through  his  mind  to  pretend 
to  be  walking  in  his  sleep,  but  a  doctor  would 
be  able  to  tell  at  a  glance  if  he  were  really 
sleeping  and  he  might  catch  him  and  give  him 
a  hypodermic !  Of  course  he  could  spring  up 
on  the  doctor  and  overcome  him — even  though 
the  doctor  was  six  feet  something  and  thick 
through  the  shoulders — the  book  always  said 
so,  but  his  evidence  had  not  all  been  gather 
ed  and  it  would  ruin  everything  now  to  show 


266  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

his  hand.  Especially  so  when  the  doctor  was 
so  thick  through  the  shoulders.  Most  villains 
weren't  so  tall,  being  small  and  with  black 
mustaches  while  Doctor  Fordyce  was  tall  and 
smooth  shaved.  That  rule  might  not  work 
on  tall  smooth-shaved  criminals.  Rencie  was 
pretty  sure  it  wouldn't. 

A  hand  fell  upon  the  knob. 

Something  had  to  be  done  and  done  quickly. 
He  threw  books  to  the  wind — they  were  sur 
prisingly  inadequate — and  looked  again  over 
the  room  for  some  place  to  hide.  He  dived 
under  the  bed  and  had  scarcely  drawn  in  his 
legs  when  the  villain  entered. 

The  suspected  party  slipped  out  of  his  coat, 
swung  it  over  the  back  of  a  chair,  and  sat 
down  to  read.  He  read  and  read;  instead  of 
going  about  the  room  and  peeking  into  a 
hidden  recess  to  bring  out  some  ghastly  souve 
nir  of  the  foul  deed  and  to  fasten  his  bloodshot 
eyes  on  it,  unable  to  escape  the  fascination  of 
the  crime,  the  man  kept  on  reading.  How 
could  a  person  with  mind  clogged  with  mem 
ory  of  such  a  murder  be  able  to  read?  Still 


A  TROUBLED  CONSCIENCE     267 

criminal  minds  were  of  a  very  low  order  of 
intellect  and  maybe,  after  all,  he  was  trying  to 
forget  the  horrible  scene  by  getting  his  mind  on 
something  else. 

Slowly  inch  by  inch  Rencie  wormed  back 
to  the  far  side  of  the  bed  and  drew  his  feet 
farther  up. 

At  last  the  man  in  the  chair  put  down  the 
magazine,  stood  up  and  gave  a  heavy  sigh. 
Ah,  that  was  the  first  indication  of  grief  that 
he  had  shown !  Only  it  did  seem  a  bit  strange 
that  he  wouldn't  sigh  until  he  was  starting  to 
bed.  Unfastening  his  collar,  he  flung  it  on  the 
bureau  and  backed  out  of  his  shirt.  Taking 
his  position  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  he  be 
gan  exercising,  filling  his  lungs  and  slapping 
his  breast.  Then  up  and  down  he  raised  him 
self,  squatting  on  his  haunches  and  coming 
up  again,  his  hands  on  his  hips.  Rencie  could 
see  just  enough  of  the  intruder's  body  to  ap 
preciate  how  splendidly  muscled  his  enemy 
was;  it  was  a  good  thing  that  he  had  not  fol 
lowed  the  book  and  leaped  upon  him  when  he 
pushed  open  the  door.  No  doubt  the  slayer 


268  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

took  exercise  just  so  that  he  could  keep  him 
self  in  trim  for  an  unexpected  emergency — 
like  a  detective  springing  upon  him  just  as  he 
was  coming  through  a  door. 

After  ages  and  ages  the  desperate  man  piled 
into  bed  with  a  chorus  of  sighs  and  groans  as 
though  it  was  tearing  him  to  pieces.  "Ah," 
thought  Rencie,  "at  last  his  conscience  is  be 
ginning  to  trouble  him." 

Maybe  he  might  talk  in  his  sleep.  He 
couldn't  remember  the  statistics  in  regard  to 
this. 

After  more  moans  and  tossings  the  weary 
soul  on  the  mattress  became  quiet  and  the 
avenger  underneath  knew  that  sleep  was  be 
ginning  to  shake  out  its  raven  wings.  Then 
his  own  troubles  began.  The  New  Palace 
wasn't  famous  on  account  of  its  spotless  rooms ; 
instead  it  drew  particular  attention  to  its  match 
less  southern  cooking.  It's  a  poor  sort  of  way 
side  inn  that  hasn't  matchless  southern  cook 
ing.  To  be  sure  the  sheets  were  always  white ; 
but  the  sheets  were  on  the  bed.  Under  the 
bed  was  different — people  didn't  sleep  there. 


A  TROUBLED  CONSCIENCE     269 

And  it  would  be  an  ill-mannered  guest  who 
would  look  under  the  bed. 

Something  began  working  in  Rencie's  nose. 
It  started  down  at  the  end  and  gradually 
worked  back,  crawling  up  the  inside  like  a 
feather.  He  wrinkled  up  his  face,  doubled  up 
his  hands  and  brought  them  to  his  breast  as  if 
to  hold  it  back.  But  the  feather  wasn't  to  be 
treated  that  way.  His  shoulders  raised — 
kerchoo!  and  came  down  like  a  trap.  The 
feather  had  come  out. 

The  long  slow  breathing  stopped.  The  man 
above  sprang  up;  a  white  leg  shot  out  and  a 
foot  dropped  down  within  a  few  inches  of 
Rencie's  face.  Rencie's  hands  were  still 
gripped  over  his  breast  and  he  pushed  them 
down  hard  over  his  heart  to  keep  it  from  shak 
ing  the  bed.  Surely  the  man  could  feel  it  even 
if  he  could  not  hear  it.  He  would  die  fighting. 
But  it  was  a  shame  that  he  should  be  killed 
so  early  in  his  career.  When  his  friends  and 
relatives  came  and  found  his  crushed  and 
mangled  body  they  would  know  that  he  had 
died  fighting.  Detectives  always  died  fighting. 


270  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

He  could  see  the  head-lines  in  the  Kansas  City 
papers : 

TRAPPED    BY   CRIMINAL,   COOL   DE 
TECTIVE  DIES  FIGHTING 

Somewhere  in  the  second  largest  type  would 
be: 

HANDICAPPDD    BY    UNSURMOUNTABLE    ODDS 
THE  YOUTHFUL  SLEUTH  FOUGHT  COUR 
AGEOUSLY  ON  TILL  His  STRENGTH 
EBBED  AWAY 

The  white  leg  remained  still  for  a  moment, 
then  reached  back  under  the  bed  and  began 
feeling  around.  The  heel  poked  the  youthful 
sleuth  in  the  ribs. 

Rencie  grabbed  for  the  leg ;  in  such  a  case  as 
this  a  detective  should  hurl  the  criminal  to  the 
floor  and  use  ju-jutsu.  The  idea  was  splendid 
— but  how  did  one  use  ju-jutsu  on  the  floor? 
But  the  leg  snapped  back  before  his  hands 
could  close  around  it. 


A  TROUBLED  CONSCIENCE     271 

The  man  leaped  out  of  bed  and  turned  on 
the  light. 

"Say,  bo,  you're  wasting  your  time,"  called 
out  the  man.  "You'll  find  me  mighty  poor 
picking." 

Rencie  rolled  out,  ready  to  spring  to  his  feet 
and  hurl  himself  like  a  catapult  at  the  enemy — 
a  detective  always  did  that  before  he  died  fight 
ing. 

"Though  you  have  the  upper  hand  of  me, 
you  foul  monster,  I  will  yet  give  you  a  worthy 
fight.  Prepare  yourself." 

But  when  Rencie  came  to  his  feet  ready  to 
catapult  himself  at  his  cringing  enemy  he 
stopped  short.  His  hands  dropped  weakly  at 
his  sides.  He  had  never  before  seen  the  fat, 
good  natured  looking  man  before  him. 

It  was  Brassy. 

"You  needn't  got  under  there — I  wasn't  go 
ing  to  hurt  you." 

Rende's  hands  fitted  in  closer  to  his  sides 
than  ever,  all  the  catapultian  strength  gone 
from  them.  "Oh,  I  thought  you  were  Doctor — 
somebody  else." 


272  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

"Sorry,  bo,"  smiled  Brassy.  "You  under 
stand  it  ain't  my  fault.  I  hate  to  put  you  to 
all  this  trouble.  I'm  the  last  person  in  the 
world  to  cause  a  hard  working  dip  any  extra 
trouble.  I  used  to  be  good  on  my  feet  myself. 
Are  you  workin'  this  town  regular  now?  I 
was  intending  to  do  some  business  here  my 
self,  but  I  guess  I  had  better  change  my  place." 

A  light  of  understanding  broke  over  Rencie. 
This  other  fellow  was  a  real  burglar!  He 
would  lead  him  out. 

"Oh,  so  you  just  got  in"-  -  he  would  be 
professional — "bo." 

"You're  on — the  midnight  train.  Say,  pard- 
ner,  what  are  the  chances  here?" 

Rencie  picked  a  dusty  raveling  from  his 
clothes  and  blew  it  carelessly  away.  "It's  poor 
picking,  pard."  That  certainly  was  profes 
sional. 

"I  had  a  hard  time  getting  a  place  here  to 
night,  and  only  after  a  lot  of  palaver  would  the 
thick-headed  clerk  let  me  in.  I  guess  he's  a 
new  clerk — important  as  he  acted.  I'd  like 


A  TROUBLED  CONSCIENCE     273 

to  give  him  a  dose  of  my  sovereign  remedy — 
the  Universal  Hog  Cholera  Cure." 

This  was  queer  talk.  It  didn't  seem  to 
mean  anything.  Rencie,  still  stunned  by  find 
ing  the  wrong  man  in  bed,  could  only  blink. 
Brassy's  next  words  astonished  him  even  more. 

"Say,  ain't  you  pretty  young  to  be  workin' 
the  second  story?  You  don't  look  like  a  real 
porch  climber  to  me." 

When  Rencie  saw  that  he  was  being  mis 
taken  for  a  night  thief  he  explained  his  pres 
ence.  "I'm  not  a  second-story  man."  That  was 
the  expression  to  use.  "I  crawled  under  the 
bed  to  play  a  joke  on  a  fellow — on  the  fellow 
who  has  this  room — and  you  turned  out  to  be 
him !  I  guess  the  new  clerk  got  things  mixed 
up  and  gave  you  the  wrong  key." 

"You  oughtn't  to  do  a  thing  like  that,  son — 
it  gives  a  fellow  an  awful  start.  Goodness 
knows  this  hotel  gives  a  fellow  enough  things, 
the  way  it  is,  without  havin'  a  strange  person 
get  under  the  bed  and  holler  'Boo !'  My  com 
pany  sent  me  up  here  to  do  missionary  work 


274  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

among  your  tillers  of  the  soil,  selling  the  great 
and  imperial  Universal  Hog  Cholera  Cure,  but 
when  I  land  here  I  find  a  telegram  telling  me 
to  move  on  to  another  territory  to  spread 
my  gospel  of  kindness  to  all  hogs." 

Rencie's  eyes  blinked  harder  than  ever. 
Listen  as  closely  as  he  might  he  could  not 
quite  make  out  what  Brassy  meant. 

"What  do  you  do  for  a  living?"  asked  Ren- 
cie  with  startling  pointedness. 

"I  save  the  lives  of  innocent  thousands.  I 
bring  joy  and  happiness  into  the  homes  of 
thousands  and  thousands  each  year.  I  keep 
families  together.  I  keep  the  mother  from 
withdrawing  into  a  dark  corner,  turnin'  her 
feet  to  the  changin'  sky  and  passin'  on  to  that 
land  that  is  far  fairer  than  ours.  I  refer  to  the 
mother  of  pigs.  Do  you  know  how  many 
young,  innocent  pigs  just  bursting  into  the 
bloom  of  young  manhood  and  womanhood  are 
swept  away  each  year  by  that  dread  disease, 
cholera  ?" 

"No,"  admitted  Rencie,  swept  back  by  the 
whirlwind  of  words. 


275 

"One  million,  two  hundred  thousand,"  re 
turned  Brassy  impressively.  "Two  million, 
four  hundred  thousand  hams,  twenty  million 
four  hundred  thousand  pounds  of  side-meat 
lost  forever  each  year  by  the  ravages  of  that 
cruel  disease.  But  all  is  not  lost;  there  is  yet 
hope.  It  is  the  Universal  Hog  Cholera  Cure, 
large  bottle  one  dollar,  half  size  fifty  cents." 

Rencie  was  disappointed.  After  all,  the  volu 
ble  guest  wasn't  a  confidence  man,  nor  even  a 
burglar. 

"I  don't  want  to  seem  impolite  or  anything 
that  way,"  Brassy  hurried  on,  "but  if  I  am 
going  to  get  that  early  train  out  you'll  have  to 
excuse  me."  He  pulled  up  one  fat  knee  and 
yawned. 

Rencie  took  the  hint.  Opening  the  door  he 
passed  into  the  hall  and  tiptoed  up  the  back 
way  without  being  seen  by  the  new  clerk,  his 
evidence  safe  and  secure.  As  Brassy  was  leav 
ing  on  the  early  train  there  was  little  danger 
of  his  mentioning  the  affair  to  anybody. 

The  next  morning  Rencie  went  around  to 
the  New  Palace  with  fear  and  faltering,  but 


276  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

sure  enough  his  acquaintance  of  the  night  had 
taken  the  early  train.  Doctor  Fordyce  had 
not  returned  during  the  night  and,  on  ques 
tioning,  the  proprietor  could  not  remember 
where  Doctor  Fordyce  was  on  the  night  of 
Clem's  disappearance;  he  was  only  certain  of 
the  fact  that  he  had  not  been  in  his  room  all 
night. 

The  hemisphere  watch-charm  had  belonged 
to  Doctor  Fordyce.  The  net  was  slowly 
gathering  about  the  doctor.  The  turn  affairs 
might  take  made  Rencie  tremble.  He  hated 
that  it  should  be  anybody  that  he  knew — even 
though  he  disliked  him  and  even  though  he 
put  his  hand  on  his  head  and  called  him  "son 
ny."  He  wished  the  net  were  closing  about 
some  wandering  tramp.  Still  he  knew  that  the 
criminal  always  turned  out  to  be  the  person 
you  suspected  least  of  all  ...  and  justice 
was  justice  and  the  stern  law  must  take  its 
course. 

Armed  with  his  evidence,  Rencie  hurried  to 
Marshal  Jupes. 

"Any  more  clues,  officer?"  he  asked  with 


A  TROUBLED  CONSCIENCE     277 

professional  mien.  "Officer1'  sounded  much 
more  important  that  "Mr.  Jupes." 

"Yes,  some  more,"  returned  Mr.  Jupes  with 
natural  official  hesitation,  fitting  his  coat  over 
the  bulge  in  his  hip  pocket.  "Yes,  some,  but 
not  so  much.  As  good  or  better  than  we  had 
hoped." 

"When  do  you  think  you'll  close  in  on  the 
malefactor?" 

The  law  moved  in  a  mysterious  way  its 
wonders  to  perform,  and  Officer  Jupes  believed 
in  adding  to  the  veil  of  mystery  that  surround 
ed  order  and  justice.  "Purty  soon,  purty  soon. 
Everything  ain't  just  ready  yet;  I  wisht  I 
could  explain  such  things  to  you,  Rencie,  but 
it  takes  years  of  study  to  master  the  perplexi 
ties  of  the  law,  and  you  are  young  yet." 

Rencie  tried  to  look  calm  and  unconcerned 
as  he  made  his  reply,  for  sleuths  always  took 
everything  as  a  matter  of  fact  and  no  one 
was  ever  able  to  detect  the  slightest  trace  of 
emotion  on  their  faces.  He  hoped  that  his 
face  was  immobile;  he  wasn't  quite  sure  what 
that  was,  but  by  looking  out  the  window  with  a 


278  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

far-away  expression  his  face  would  no  doubt 
have  all  the  immobility  necessary. 

"I  know  who  the  guilty  wretch  is,"  Rencie 
said,  his  eyes  out  the  window. 

The  minion  of  the  law  studied  him  curiously 
a  moment,  hesitating  between  smiling  and 
eagerness. 

"I  have  run  the  fiend  to  earth,"  the  immo 
bility  of  his  face  becoming  more  apparent  than 
ever. 

Mr.  Jupes  rose  excitedly.  "What  do  you 
mean,  anyway?"  he  demanded. 

"I  can  put  my  hand  on  the  inhuman  monster 
who  committed  the  foul  deed." 

Mr.  Jupes  dropped  a  trembling  hand  on  Reri- 
cie's  shoulder  and  bent  his  head  around  until 
he  could  look  squarely  into  Rencie's  face.  But 
he  could  gather  no  message  there.  "This  is 
a  serious  thing,  boy,"  he  exclaimed. 

"The  dastardly  blackguard  is  even  now  in 
our  midst." 

Jupes  studied  the  boy  a  moment  and  im 
pressed  by  his  seriousness,  clumped  over  to  the 
door  and  locked  it. 


A  TROUBLED  CONSCIENCE     279 

They  were  closed  from  sight  for  more  than 
an  hour  and  when  the  door  opened  Marshal 
Jupes  hurried  down  the  street  and  turned  up 
the  wooden  stairs  that  led  to  Judge  Wood- 
bridge's  office.  Mr.  Kiggins'  telephone  rang 
and  in  a  minute  he  was  going  up  the  same 
wooden  flight;  leaning  out  the  window  Judge 
Woodbridge  called  to  Mr.  Knabb,  and  he, 
catching  the  tone,  came  breathlessly  up  the 
worn  steps.  The  telephone  at  the  New  Palace 
jangled  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  proprietor 
paused  to  catch  his  breath,  then  knocked  nerv 
ously  at  Judge  Woodbridge's  door. 

At  the  end  of  two  hours  Marshal  Jupes 
walked  down  Main  Street  toward  the  New 
Palace,  outwardly  calm;  but  had  you  known 
him  very  well  you  would  have  seen  that  his 
hand  kept  slipping  back  almost  unconsciously 
toward  his  right  hip  pocket.  In  a  few  minutes 
he  returned  side  by  side  with  Doctor  Fordyce, 
his  hands  free  and  the  right  one  swinging  near 
the  same  hip  pocket.  Neither  was  talking,  but 
aside  from  that  almost  any  one  would  have 
believed  that  they  were  taking  a  social  stroll. 


280  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

Only  they  didn't  go  toward  the  Chautauqua 
Grounds,  nor  even  in  the  direction  of  the 
water-works,  nor  out  toward  Lovers'  Lane. 
Instead  they  turned  down  Ash  Street  and  into 
the  brick  calaboose. 

No  one  seemingly  had  paid  any  attention 
to  them,  had  scarcely  noticed  that  they  were 
on  the  street — until  the  red  door  of  the  jail 
closed  behind  them.  Two  men  standing  in 
front  of  the  post-office  discussing  fall  rye 
stopped  talking  and  fastened  their  eyes  on  the 
red  door  curiously;  a  man  lounged  out  of  the 
lumber  yard  with  an  apron  swinging  from  his 
shoulders  and  sat  down  on  a  keg,  his  face 
turned  toward  the  jail. 

Mr.  Knabb  came  down  the  wooden  steps 
and  was  hurrying  up  the  street  when  some  one 
stopped  him,  and  coming  close  asked  him  a 
question.  He  shook  his  head  non-committally 
and  turned  away.  The  man  then  hastened  to 
the  eager  group  in  front  of  the  post-office. 

That  night  the  mob  came. 

In  reality  it  didn't  come;  it  was  already 
there ;  it  merely  melted  into  a  blur  in  the  dark- 


A  TROUBLED  CONSCIENCE     281 

ness.  A  few  men  walked  past  the  jail  without 
turning  their  heads  toward  it;  keeping  them 
painfully  straight  ahead.  They  turned  down 
the  street  toward  the  railroad  trestle  where  it 
ran  high  over  Clear  Branch.  Behind  the 
square  pillars  that  supported  the  bridge  were 
other  men,  all  singularly  quiet,  without  masks 
or  even  a  coat  collar  turned  up.  Figures  came 
tramping  up  the  middle  of  the  street,  keeping 
away  from  the  loose  boarded  walk.  They 
peered  into  one  another's  faces  with  scarcely 
a  word  of  greeting. 

A  figure  in  a  coonskin  cap  approached,  his 
shoes  crunching  in  the  dust,  and  dropped  some 
thing  that  sounded  like  a  sack  of  potatoes,  ex 
cept  that  there  was  a  slight  metallic  clink.  He 
kicked  it  with  his  foot. 

"I  couldn't  get  the  swivel  off,"  he  said 
hoarsely,  "but  a  well  rope'll  do  the  work  as 
good  as  anything." 

"This  goes  with  it,"  whispered  another 
voice,  taking  up  the  same  hoarse  pitch,  and 
drawing  a  leather  strap  from  his  pocket.  A 
buckle  rattled.  "It's  a  hame-string,  and  the 


282  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

buckle  works  easy.  It'll  keep  his  feet  from 
kickin'." 

Across  the  left  arms  of  several  of  the  men 
rested  long  objects  that  looked  like  peavies, 
but  men  never  carry  peavies  in  the  hollows  of 
their  left  arms. 

Two  men  stepped  back  a  few  feet  from  the 
abutment  of  the  bridge,  and  a  long  arm  lifted 
toward  the  cross-ties.  "About  thirty-five  feet," 
said  one,  and  the  other  voiced  a  nasal  agree 
ment.  The  two  melted  into  the  crowd  again. 

A  "hack"  turned  the  corner,  the  farm  team 
jogging  down  the  dusty  street,  the  chains  of 
the  work  harness  clinking  merrily.  A  lone 
figure  sat  hunched  on  the  front  seat,  humming 
fragments  of  Good-by,  My  Lover,  Good-by, 
evidently  inspired  to  the  rendition  by  too  much 
of  Joe's  Place.  The  men  massed  behind  the  tim 
bers  and  the  farmer  rolled  by,  oblivious  that 
there  was  a  soul  in  a  hundred  yards  of  him. 

A  hand  reached  into  an  inside  pocket,  a  head 
was  thrown  back,  a  throaty  gurgle  told  what 
was  happening,  and  the  back  of  a  hand  rasped 
across  a  stubbled  chin.  Before  the  flask  could 


A  TROUBLED  CONSCIENCE     283 

be  put  away  the  nearest  neighbor  nudged  and 
whispered,  "Sure,  I'll  take  some."  Another 
neighbor  also  felt  disposed  and  in  a  minute 
the  empty  bottle  sailed  in  an  arc  and  dropped 
into  the  wayside  weeds. 

"When  my  boy  had  the  fever  he  set  up  with 
him  three  nights  straight,"  said  a  hoarse  voice 
in  the  crowd.  "That's  what  he  did — three 
nights  straight." 

"Last  spring  when  I  had  the  rheum'tism," 
came  another  thick  voice  out  of  the  darkness, 
"and  couldn't  go  around  damp  places,  he  bailed 
the  water  out  of  my  cellar  every  day  during 
the  wet  spell." 

No  names  were  mentioned;  it  was  always 
he.  Whether  the  reference  was  to  Clem,  or  to 
the  prisoner,  no  name  was  used. 

"I  never  liked  him  from  the  first  time  I  laid 
my  eyes  on  him,"  snapped  a  bitter  voice.  "But 
I  never  dreamed  he  had  this  in  him." 

The  men  knotted  closer  together  and  a  dis 
tinct  rumble  of  anticipation  ran  over  them. 

Outlined  in  the  distance  was  the  brick  jail; 
near  the  top  of  the  rear  a  lamp  glimmered  and 


284  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

even  at  that  distance  it  could  be  seen  that  bars 
measured  off  the  light.  A  shadow  came  slip 
ping  down  the  road  from  the  back  of  the  brick 
structure,  came  hurrying  down  the  dusty  street 
and  paused  at  the  edge  of  the  crowd.  Heads 
bent  forward,  silently  and  questioningly,  and 
hands  crept  unconsciously  to  hip  pockets. 

"It's  all  right,  boys,"  guaranteed  the  man 
with  the  coonskin  cap.  Then  he  turned  to  the 
black  figures  and  shot  an  arm  out  in  a  com 
manding  gesture.  "They  don't  suspicion  any 
thing  up  there,  and  that's  his  light  burnin'. 
It's  all  right,  boys." 

That  was  all  that  was  needed.  Almost  as  if 
with  one  foot  they  stepped  off,  keeping  to 
the  middle  of  the  street.  Massed,  they  moved 
to  the  dairy  building,  crossed  the  walk  without 
more  than  touching  a  toe  to  it,  some  leaping. 
Hats  came  down  over  eyes,  hands  went  to  hip 
pockets  and  brought  out  bits  of  shining  metal ; 
the  well  rope  clinked  and  one  or  two  figures 
lurched  perceptibly. 

The  man  with  the  coonskin  cap  held  up  a 
hand,  tiptoed  on  to  the  steps  and  was  reaching 


A  TROUBLED  CONSCIENCE     283 

out  for  the  door-knob  when  the  red  door  pulled 
back  before  his  face  and  Marshal  Jupes  stood 
before  him.  The  lamp,  hanging  on  the  wall 
behind  him,  showed  a  squat  figure  in  whose 
hands  was  gripped  a  short  repeating  rifle.  His  , 
hair  was  tossed  and  tumbled  and  one  suspender 
dangled,  showing  a  hasty  toilet. 

"Boys,"  rose  a  high  wavering  voice,  "I 
know  what  you  come  for.  But  you  can't  have 
him,  you  can't  have  him."  The  voice  was  not 
certain,  and  even  in  the  shadow  the  face  whit 
ened.  "We  don't  want  no  trouble,  boys,  but 
I'm  going  to  do  my  duty.  If  he's  guilty  the 
law'll  be  enforced." 

"He's  guilty  all  right,"  cut  in  a  voice,  "and 
we  want  him.  You  better  not  make  trouble." 

"Now,  boys,  you  don't  know,"  dropping 
from  assertion  to  argument.  "You  don't  know 
for  sure,  and  you'll  be  sorry  if  you  do  any 
thing  hasty." 

A  hand  circled  above  the  crowd  unseen  by 
the  figure  in  the  door,  a  noose  swished  through 
the  air  and  dropped  on  Jupes'  shoulder.  Some 
one  had  tried  to  lariat  him.  He  ducked  back 


286  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

and  slammed  the  red  door  behind  him.  Scarce 
ly  had  the  door  locked  before  a  shot  sputtered 
into  the  wood.  Another  shot  flattened  against 
the  bricks.  A  return  shot  from  the  inside 
whistled  over  the  heads  of  the  crowd.  The 
men  parted  around  either  corner.  A  rock  went 
crashing  through  a  window.  A  heavy  log  was 
swung  around  the  corner,  two  men  on  each 
side.  The  men  swung  it  back  and  forth  a 
couple  of  times  to  get  the  rhythm  of  their 
bodies,  and  the  figure  in  a  coonskin  cap  grated 
his  breath  out  harshly  as  a  signal  and  the  bat 
tering-ram  crashed  against  the  door.  The  door 
flew  open,  swinging  limply  on  one  hinge,  the 
end  of  the  log  sticking  through  the  splintered 
panel,  like  a  camel's  nose. 

"Now,  men"  yelled  the  man  in  the  coonskin 
cap  defiantly,  "all  together.  He's  our  man !" 

The  men  surged  forward  with  a  chorus  of 
yells,  shouts  and  curses  in  all  keys. 

But  there  was  one  figure  quicker  than  all 
the  rest.  Pushing  his  way  through  the  crowd 
he  leaped  through  the  door,  darted  inside, 


A  TROUBLED  CONSCIENCE     287 

called  a  sentence  to  Jupes  and  was  back  in  the 
door  with  the  officer's  gun. 

"Stop  where  you  are,"  he  commanded  with 
so  much  authority  that  the  men  poised  on  their 
toes,  ready  to  release  their  muscles  and  finish 
the  action.  "Stand  where  you  are  till  I  tell  you 
one  thing!" 

Outlined  against  the  light,  his  shoulders 
squared,  his  head  up,  the  repeating  rifle  in  his 
hands,  stood  Rick  Oody. 

"In  reality  I've  got  two  things  to  tell  you." 
His  voice  was  high  and  clear.  There  was  a 
commanding  something  about  him  that  no  one 
had  ever  dreamed  of  before,  a  power  that  made 
even  the  man  in  the  coonskin  cap  drop  his 
shoulders  and  settle  back.  "The  first  thing  is 
this:  the  first  man  that  moves  toward  this  door 
is  a  dead  man,  and  the  second  and  the  third, 
just  as  long  as  I  last.  You  may  be  able  to  get 
me  but  some  of  you'll  never  go  home.  Hen 
Riley,  if  you  swing  that  lariat  at  me  I'll  shoot 
you  cold.  Damn  it,  there's  nothing  I'd  rather 
do. 


288  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

"The  second  thing  is  this:  don't  you  raise 
that  gun,  Bill  Smith,  or  I'll  plug  you  through 
the  eye.  I  know  positively  that  Doctor  For- 
dyce  didn't  kill  Clem  Pointer.  I  know  it.  I 
hate  the  doctor  just  as  much  as  any  of  you — 
more  I  guess.  Didn't  my  little  girl  die  and 
him  waitin'  on  her? — but  I  ain't  going  to  see 
you  string  him  up  when  he  ain't  guilty.  I 
know  positively  that  he  didn't  kill  Clem  and 
that's  all  I  can  tell  you  about  it." 

"Who  did  then?"  demanded  a  heavy  voice. 

"I  ain't  saying  that  anybody  did — we  ain't 
ever  found  his  body.  You  don't  know  any 
thing  about  what  happened  except  findin'  some 
things.  I  can't  tell  you  any  more;  but  one 
thing  I  do  know,  and  that  is  Doctor  Fordyce 
didn't  kill  him." 

There  was  authority  in  the  way  Rick  Oody 
lifted  his  head,  and  in  the  way  his  shoulders 
held  themselves  stiff  and  rigid  in  the  panel  of 
light.  Never  before  in  the  whole  history  of 
Curryville  had  any  one  paid  the  slightest  at 
tention  to  him,  but  now  they  realized  that  a 
power  stood  before  them.  Rick  had  seen  Clem 
and  knew  that  he  was  still  in  the  flesh.  If  he 


I'm   just   Rick   Oody,   the   town   drunkard 


A  TROUBLED  CONSCIENCE     289 

could  have  said  this  the  crowd  would  have 
melted  away,  but  he  had  promised  Clem  that 
not  one  word  should  pass  his  lips  as  to  what 
had  happened  to  him,  and  by  that  promise 
Rick's  lips  were  sealed. 

"Who  are  you  to  be  talking  this  way?"  came 
the  demand. 

"That's  right,  I'm  just  Rick  Oody,  the  town 
drunkard,  the  man  who  does  your  dirty  work 
and  buries  your  horses,  but  I  know  what  I  am 
talking  about."  There  was  an  assurance  about 
him,  a  power  in  his  attitude,  an  authority  in 
his  words  that  no  one  in  Curryville  would  have 
guessed  possible.  "If  anybody  comes  inside  this 
lock-up  to-night  it'll  be  over  my  dead  body — 
and  mine  won't  be  the  only  one.  I  know  who 
most  of  you  are,  and  Jupes  has  heard  me  call 
out  some  of  your  names  and  you  know  what 
that'll  mean  if  it  comes  up  in  law.  Now,  I'm 
goin'  in,  boys,  and  I'm  goin'  to  set  just  inside 
that  door,  all  night — with  this  gun  on  my 
knee." 

Slowly  he  turned  his  back  full  upon  the 
crowd,  stepped  across  the  log  and  disappeared 
behind  the  red  door.  From  the  barricade  came 


290  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

Rick's  voice,  the  same  measured  assurance  in  it 
as  before:  "Boys,  I'm  goin'  to  keep  that  lamp 
lit  so  that  you'll  know  who  is  the  first  one 
down." 

The  mob  stood  hesitating,  breathing  heavily. 

"Go  on  back  to  the  trestle,  boys — with  your 
well  rope — and  think  it  over." 

The  attitude  of  the  men,  their  necks  out, 
their  lips  set,  relaxed,  their  eyes  left  the  red 
door,  and  each  looked  at  the  other.  The  man 
with  the  coonskin  cap  reached  one  foot  behind 
him  and  the  crowd  edged  back,  without  turn 
ing  their  faces.  Silently  they  flowed  around 
the  corner  of  the  little  brick  building,  crossed 
the  board  walk  and  gathered  in  the  dusty 
street. 

Then  two  figures  turned  back  and  walked 
without  hesitation  up  to  the  edge  of  the  porch. 
Hen  Riley  and  the  man  with  the  greasy  moth- 
eaten  cap  dragged  the  log  out  of  the  splintered 
panel  of  the  red  door,  carried  it  down  the 
middle  of  the  street  and  flung  it  shamefully  in 
the  gully  underneath  the  trestle. 

The  mob  had  been  quelled,  and  the  prisoner 
was  safe. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
BRASSY'S  IDEA 

CLEM  found  another  boarding-place  in 
Kansas  City  where  he  was  quite  sure 
that  spilled  blood  had  not  leaked  clear  through 
to  the  ceiling  below,  and  worked  harder  than 
ever  preparing  to  save  thoughtless  humanity 
from  the  devouring  flames  by  means  of  the 
Railey  Fire-Escape  Belt. 

Thoughtless  humanity,  however,  had  little 
worry  about  the  devouring  flames,  being  per 
fectly  content  to  go  on  in  its  headlong  way 
straight  to  ruin.  Still  he  made  a  few  sales. 
Inventor  Railey's  sad  optimism  kept  up;  he 
felt  sure  that  one  day — maybe  to-morrow — 
thoughtless  humanity  would  see  the  error  of 
its  way  and  do  something  to  protect  its  loved 
ones. 

The  city  ground  on  him  harder  and  harder. 
20,1 


292  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

After  the  glamour  and  whirl  of  the  first  few 
days  had  worn  off  it  became  a  millstone  around 
his  neck. 

One  evening  he  was  standing  in  front  of  the 
bulletin-board,  one  of  a  wild  mass  of  hurrahing 
humans.  Somebody  somewhere  had  just  slid 
in  home  and  hats  went  up  in  the  air  and  men 
pounded  one  another  on  the  shoulders  as  if 
some  brave  fireman  had  leaped  to  safety  on 
a  Railey  Belt  with  a  beautiful  yet  sobbing 
woman  in  his  arms.  And  there  was  nothing 
to  see  except  a  diamond-shaped  thing  about 
as  big  as  a  checker-board — wouldn't  he  like  to 
have  another  game  with  Judge  Woodbridge? 
— nailed  on  the  side  of  a  building. 

Above  the  miniature  baseball  diamond  a 
bulletin  was  posted.  Clem's  eyes  leaped  to  it: 

DR.  FORDYCE,  ALMOST  LYNCHED, 
Now  TO  OWN  CITY 

Last  Week  Curryville  Was   Ready  to  Hang 

Doctor — This  week  Willing  to  Give 

Him  Valuable  Option. 


BRASSY'S    IDEA  293 

Clem  brushed  the  back  of  his  hand  across 
his  eyes  with  a  motion  peculiar  to  him  and 
with  parted  lips  stared  at  the  bulletin. 

"Look,  look !"  exclaimed  a  man  behind  him 
to  his  companion.  "Doctor  Fordyce — that's 
our  man !" 

The  man  addressed  turned  his  eyes  from 
the  miniature  diamond  to  the  news  bulletin. 
"Well,  I'll  be  damned!  Sure  that's  Fordyce, 
but  what  does  all  this  mean — almost  lynched  ?" 

"Hsh — you  don't  know  who's  around," 
warned  the  other,  pushing  up  his  Panama. 
"He  hasn't  reported  for  a  week  and  his  or 
ders  are  to  send  in  word  every  day.  Curry- 
ville's  the  town,  all  right.  We'd  better  send 
him  a  cipher." 

The  other  nodded  and  the  two  men  hurried 
away. 

Slowly  the  meaning  of  it  burned  into  Clem's 
mind;  but  even  then  it  was  confused  and 
blurred.  In  some  way  Doctor  Fordyce  was 
the  agent  of  these  men  and  was  trying  to  get 
something  from  Curryville.  Clem  turned  and 
pushed  his  way  through  the  crowd  after  the 


294  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

men.  He  followed  them  for  half  a  block,  then 
one  of  the  men  hailed  a  passing  taxicab  and 
both  leaped  in. 

Clem  paused,  uncertain  what  to  do.  He  had 
never  trusted  himself  in  a  machine  like  that 
before  and  besides  it  would  cost — he  felt  of 
his  thin  pocketbook.  Why  hadn't  they  taken 
a  street-car?  But  no  time  was  to  be  lost.  He 
waved  to  another  taxicab  and  pointed  to  the 
one  ahead.  "Take  me  wherever  they  go,"  he 
commanded,  and  settled  back  in  the  cushions. 

It  was  his  first  ride ;  the  machine  made  a  lot 
of  noise  and  racket  until  one  would  have 
thought  it  \vas  going  to  blow  up  the  next 
moment,  and  it  was  not  easy  riding  as  a  buggy 
either.  He  leaned  forward  looking  out  of  the 
window  curiously,  elated,  wondering  what  Hul- 
da  would  think  of  him  now  if  she  could  see 
him.  What  did  that  little  finger  on  the  dial 
mean  that  kept  crawling  over  a  circle  of 
figures? 

The  machine  drew  up  with  a  cough,  and  the 
chauffeur  opened  the  door.  "They're  getting 
out,"  he  53  i<l 


BRASSY'S  IDEA  295 

As  Clem  hurried  through  the  door  of  an 
office  building  he  saw  the  elevator  closing  on 
them.  The  door  clicked  and  their  feet  dis 
appeared  into  the  floor  above.  Where  would 
they  get  off?  He  had  just  as  well  be  a  hun 
dred  miles  from  them  as  not  to  know  where 
they  got  off.  On  the  next  trip  he  asked  to  be 
put  off  at  the  same  floor  with  the  men.  On 
the  frosted  door  before  him  was  painted  "The 
Southern  Development  Company."  This  made 
the  mystery  deeper  than  ever,  for  what  should 
a  southern  development  company  have  to  do 
with  Curryville,  and,  above  all,  with  Doctor 
Fordyce  and  an  attempted  lynching.  Still 
he  felt  certain  that  he  was  on  the  right  trail. 
This  seemed  about  the  end  of  the  scent,  for 
how  could  he  find  out  what  was  going  on  in 
side  the  closed  doors?  If  he  should  go  in  he 
could  only  stay  a  moment — he  had  suffered 
from  experience — without  being  able  to  get 
any  more  information. 

The  door  next  to  the  Southern  Development 
Company  was  open.  Clem  slipped  in ;  the  jani 
tor  was  at  work  on  the  floor.  Clem  looked  out 


296  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

the  window  that  opened  on  the  court;  it  was 
within  a  few  feet  of  the  development  com 
pany's  window.  A  plan  flashed  through  his 
mind.  Stepping  out  on  the  broad  window-ledge 
he  leaned  over  until  he  could  hear  the  men 
talking. 

"Isn't  that  fine?"  one  of  them  was  saying. 
"He  can  close  it  up  by  Friday.  That  is  when 
they  have  the  special  election  to  vote  on  it. 
He's  a  live  wire  all  right.  I  guess  we'd  bet 
ter  take  him  into  the  firm  when — " 

Clem's  heart  was  leaping  high,  but  then 
something  happened  behind  him.  The  janitor 
had  closed  the  window  and  he  was  locked  out 
side  four  stories  from  the  ground.  He  heard 
no  more  of  the  conversation;  he  peered  over 
and  felt  a  peculiar  sinking  on  his  left  side. 
Pushing  back  his  hat  he  looked  into  the  room 
he  had  just  left.  The  janitor  had  gone  out, 
closing  the  door.  When  he  strained  at  the  win 
dow  he  found  that  it  was  locked.  He  was 
trapped. 

He  could  break  the  window,  but  the  sound 
of  falling  glass  would  bring  a  curious  crowd, 


BRASSY'S  IDEA  297 

and  besides,  the  door  might  be  locked.  He 
must  act  quickly,  for  the  strain  on  his  feet  was 
telling. 

Carefully  he  stepped  across  to  the  other 
window,  gripped  the  casing  and  pushed  a  leg  in. 

"Look  there — what's  that?"  exclaimed  one 
of  the  development  men  at  sight  of  the  en 
croaching  foot.  Clem  stiffly  climbed  inside. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  demanded  one  of 
them.  "Call  the  police." 

Clem  stepped  on  the  floor  and  straightened 
up,  short  of  breath.  "Gentlemen,"  he  said, 
"have  I  the  pleasure  of  addressing  representa 
tives  of  the  Southern  Development  Company?" 

"What  do  you  want  ?"  snapped  the  other. 

"Do  you  gentlemen  realize  that  fire  destroys 
more  lives  each  year  than  any  other  agent  in 
the  world  outside  of  sickness?  Hundreds  are 
hanged,  thousands  go  down  in  the  ocean  each 
year,  but  tens  of  thousands  are  swept  off  this 
earth  by  the  most  horrible  known  death — fire. 
I  have  here  the  Railey  Fire-Escape  Belt  and 
with  it  I  am  able  to  enter  your  office  in  such 
an  unceremonious  fashion.  Strong  as  a  cable, 


298  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

light  as  a  feather,  no  cork  to  become  rotten 
and  useless,  and  can  be  adjusted  in  six  sec 
onds  with  one  hand  while  holding  in  the  other 
arm  a  loved  one.  The  only  belt  on  the  market 
where  two  or  more  can  escape  from  the  de 
vouring  flames  at  the  same  time.  Can  be  put 
out  of  sight  under  a  desk ;  on  the  wall  it  makes 
an  attractive  ornament.  Do  you  know  you 
owe  it  to  your  loved  ones  to  protect  yourself?" 

The  men  glanced  at  each  other,  taken  back 
by  the  torrent  of  words.  "Say,  but  you  got 
some  nerve !"  exclaimed  the  dark-complexioned 
one.  "You  ought  to  sell  stock." 

"You  may  not  need  it  to-morrow,  but  sooner 
or  later  your  life  may  depend  on  it,  and  with 
out  the  Railey  Fire-Escape  Belt  your  loved 
ones  may  be  made  widows  and  orphans.  A 
complete  diagram  explaining  its  adjustment 
accompanies  each  belt.  A  man  in  Tasmania 
said  it  saved  his  whole  family.  It  saves  peo 
ple  from  burning  to  death  in  office  buildings, 
factories,  homes,  houses  and  hotels.  Perhaps 
one  of  you  has  had  some  loved  one  snatched 
out  of  your  arms  into  the  jaws  of  that  ter- 


BRASSY'S  IDEA  299 

rible  monster — fire;  perhaps  you  have  had  a 
wife,  sister  or  sweetheart  perish  just  beyond 
your  finger-tips  for  lack  of  a  safety  belt.  Spe 
cial  rates  for  orders  of  more  than  a  dozen." 

The  two  men  looked  into  each  other's  eyes 
and  smiled.  The  peril  of  their  loved  ones  per 
ishing  just  beyond  their  finger-tips  in  the  jaws 
of  the  terrible  monster  didn't  worry  them  very 
much,  and  the  fact  that  it  was  the  only  belt 
on  the  market  that  could  be  adjusted  in  six 
seconds  while  holding  the  loved  one  with  the 
other  arm  didn't  bring  home  the  need  of  the 
belt  as  might  be  expected,  nor  did  the  added 
inducement  of  special  rates  for  wholesale  quan 
tities  make  them  feel  the  grave  danger  that 
was  hanging  over  them. 

"Say,  you've  got  a  great  line  of  talk,"  said 
the  dark-complexioned  one.  "You  oughtn't  to 
be  wasting  your  time  on  fire-escape  belts  and 
loved  ones  when  you  could  sell  stock.  How'd 
you  like  to  sell  some  Oriole  Mining  Stock?" 

Clem  swept  his  eye  over  the  office.  On  a 
desk  was  a  telegram  which  he  felt  might  be 
from  Doctor  Fordyce.  While  gradually  back- 


300  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

ing  toward  the  message  he  explained  that  he 
felt  called  to  let  the  world  know  about  the 
wonders  of  the  Railey  Fire-Escape  Belt  so 
that  mankind  could  escape  from  fire  which  had 
always  been  a  surly  servant,  since  man  sub 
dued  it,  thus  rising  above  the  animals,  but 
which  still  strikes  back,  cruelly,  relentlessly. 
His  hand  closed  on  the  yellow  sheet. 

"But,"  insisted  the  swarthy  one,  half  hu 
morously,  "why  not  leave  something  for  your 
wife,  sister  or  sweetheart  in  case  the  wire  snaps 
and  you  are  hurled  headlong  to  the  bloody 
pavement?" 

"It's  made  of  the  best  steel  and  will  not 
break,  and  it's  capable  of  supporting  the  weight 
of  three  loved  ones." 

"Say,  you're  all  right.  You  bring  it  home 
all  right  till  a  fellow  really  gets  to  thinking 
about  his  wife,  sister  or  sweetheart  weeping 
her  heart  out  at  the  window  waiting  for  a 
fellow  to  come  back.  That's  the  secret  of  suc 
cessful  salesmanship — make  it  personal."  Clem 
insisted  that  his  heart  was  given  to  the  Railey 
Belt,  but  that  he  would  drop  back  again  some 


BRASSY'S  IDEA  301 

day  to  see  if  they  had  come  to  appreciate  their 
loved  ones  at  their  truth  worth,  though  inflect 
ing  his  voice  as  if  to  say  that  he  might  not  find 
them,  for  no  one  ever  knew  when  the  terrible 
monster  was  going  to  seize  unbelievers  in  its 
devouring  jaws.  He  closed  the  door  behind 
him  and  stumbled  his  way  toward  the  ele 
vator.  His  knees  sagged  and  his  heart  was 
pounding.  The  elevator  made  him  think  of  the 
horror  of  falling.  He  was  glad  when  he  was 
outside. 

"Here  I  am,"  called  a  voice  at  the  curbing. 
"Get  right  in." 

It  was  the  taxicab  man.  There  was  more 
of  a  command  than  a  welcome  in  his  voice. 
Clem  piled  in  before  he  knew  what  he  was 
doing. 

"Where  to?"  asked  the  taxicab  man,  hold 
ing  the  door  open. 

Clem  had  no  idea  where,  but  of  course  he 
must  go  somewhere.  He  could  tell  that  by  the 
way  the  man  spoke.  "Up  the  street — then 
back." 

The  man  glanced  at  him  sharply  as  if  to 


302  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

make  up  his  mind  about  something  and  snapped 
the  door. 

In  a  few  minutes  Clem  realized  that  he  was 
out  of  the  immediate  danger  of  discovery  by 
the  Southern  Development  Company,  but  an 
other  cloud  was  falling  over  him.  He  leaned 
forward  anxiously,  and  as  near  as  he  could  esti 
mate  it  he  owed  the  taxicab  man  two  dollars 
and  eighty  cents.  He  understood  now;  the 
man  had  been  charging  for  his  wait;  nervously 
he  fumbled  through  his  pockets.  All  he  could 
bring  to  light  was  two  dollars  and  twenty 
cents  and  a  few  signed  orders  for  the  Railey 
Fire-Escape  Belt.  And  the  fare  was  going 
up  all  the  time.  He  was  afraid  of  the  chauf 
feur;  he  had  always  been  timid  of  waiters, 
conductors  and  policemen. 

There  was  one  consolation,  anyway — he  had 
evidence  in  the  shape  of  a  telegram.  He  drew 
it  out  of  his  pocket,  glanced  at  it  and  settled 
back  limply.  Then  he  leaned  forward  as  if 
to  call  to  the  man  at  the  wheel,  but  sank  back 
more  limply  than  ever.  The  telegram  was  in 
cipher. 


BRASSY'S  IDEA  303 

The  machine  came  to  a  spitting  stop  and 
the  man  poked  his  head  inside.  "We've  seen 
this  street  now.  Cliff  Drive?" 

Clem  remembered  what  a  long  distance  it 
was  to  the  drive.  "No,"  he  said  weakly,  "just 
go  back." 

The  driver  glanced  searchingly  again.  "The 
same  place?" 

"Yes,  the  same  place — but  go  slow." 

Surely  going  slowly  would  keep  the  finger 
from  racing  around  so  fast. 

Clem  sat  reading  the  street  signs  automat 
ically,  searching  his  mind  for  a  way  out.  Sec 
ond-hand  clothes  could  be  bought  for  a  song, 
teeth  could  be  extracted  without  pain  or  your 
money  back,  with  bridge  work  a  specialty ;  you 
could  get  your  name  printed  on  neat  tasty 
cards  while  you  waited,  while  if  you  had  only 
a  dollar  you  could  go  in  and  order  the  best 
bedroom  set  in  America  for  the  money — 
"We  believe  you  are  honest."  The  slant  of  a 
shoulder  on  the  sidewalk  brought  Brassy  back 
to  mind.  Clem  knew  that  Brassy  had  been 
out  on  the  road,  but  he  would  go  to  the  home 


304  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

office  of  the  Universal  and  at  least  try  to  en 
list  help.  Clem  ran  into  a  corner  drug  store, 
verified  the  address  and  called  the  number  to 
the  chauffeur. 

The  finger  pointed  to  four  dollars  and 
twenty  cents. 

The  driver  cut  a  corner,  backed  into  a  side 
street  with  much  turning,  starting  and  retreat 
ing,  the  finger  using  this  as  a  pretext  to  leap 
forward  like  a  thing  alive,  and  finally  drew  up 
before  the  number. 

"I'll  wait,"  said  the  chauffeur,  as  if  he  owned 
his  fare.  Clem  got  the  floor  number  from  the 
elevator  starter,  and  opened  the  door  into  the 
office  of  the  Universal.  A  mass  of  blond  hair 
arose  to  meet  him. 

"Is  Mr.  Haganin?" 

The  girl  glanced  at  the  bulletin-board  with 
the  names  of  the  salesmen,  showing  whether 
they  were  in  or  out,  and  nodded.  "Mr.  Hagan 
is  engaged,"  she  said,  looking  on  past  Clem 
at  her  reflection  in  the  glass  door.  "Have  a 
seat." 

Clem  changed  uneasily  from  one  hip  to  the 


BRASSY'S  IDEA  305 

other.  "I  can  wait,  but  the  taxicab — "  break 
ing  off  as  if  to  imply  that  a  meter  waits  on  nei 
ther  time  nor  tide.  Especially  when  it  has  a 
good  running  start. 

The  girl  caught  at  the  word.  That  was  dif 
ferent.  Customers  that  came  in  taxicabs — "Oh, 
I'll  see.  What's  the  name?" 

"Pointer." 

"Mr.  Philbin?" 

"No,  Mr.  Pointer." 

"Phillips?" 

"No,  Pointer." 

"How  do  you  spell  it?"  patting  her  hair. 
Clem  called  out  the  seven  letters. 

"Oh,  Painter!"  exclaimed  the  girl  with 
finality,  disappearing  into  the  adjoining  room. 

Brassy  appeared  at  the  door,  sleeked  up  till 
Clem  scarcely  knew  him.  Brassy  made  a  dive 
at  him. 

"By  jooks,  I'm  glad  to  see  you!  Come  right 
in  and  let  me  show  you  around  over  the  home 
office  of  that  sovereign  remedy,  the  Universal 
Hog  Cholera  Cure,  that  has  brought  peace  and 
happiness  to  so  many  hogs  over  the  length 


306  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

and  breadth  of  this  land.  Do  you  know  how 
many  hogs  pass  away  with  cholera  each  year 
in  Missouri  alone?  Have  you  ever  seen  a  hog 
fade  and  wither  under  your  very  eye  like  a 
flower  in  a  hot  draft?  Come  with  me  and 
I'll  show  you  the  one  thing  that  keeps  them 
from  joining  the  great  majority,  large  size  one 
dollar,  small  fifty  cents."  Brassy  seized  Clem 
by  the  arm  and  started  to  drag  him  into  the 
maze  of  offices. 

"I  can't  go."  Clem  tried  to  explain  so  that 
no  one  would  hear. 

"Sure  you  can,"  insisted  Brassy.  "It's  made 
of  herbs,  roots  and  nature's  own  remedies,  and 
contains  no  antimony." 

Clem  whispered  into  Brassy's  ear:  "I  came 
in  a  taxicab  and — " 

"Whew — but  we're  putting  on  dog.  You 
must  have  saved  a  lot  of  loved  ones  to-day." 

"But  I  didn't  want  to  come  that  way — " 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,  I  won't  feel  bad.  Street 
cars  are  still  good  enough  for  me.  Have  you 
seen  this  year's  demountable  rims  and  mohair 
tops?" 


BRASSY'S  IDEA  307 

"But  I  haven't  paid  for  it  yet." 

"I  understand — just  taken  it  on  trial!  See 
if  you  can't  get  them  to  throw  in  an  extra 
set  of  tires." 

Clem  pinned  Brassy  in  a  corner  and  whis 
pered  into  his  ear.  Brassy's  face  became  more 
serious.  "By  jooks,  we'd  just  better  go  down 
and  buy  it  and  send  the  chauffeur  home!  I 
haven't  got  enough  to  ride  around  the  block; 
I'd  have  to  get  off  at  the  first  muddy  crossing 
and  walk.  If  they  were  selling  taxicabs  two 
for  a  quarter,  I  couldn't  blow  up  a  bicycle." 

Clem  put  his  hand  on  Brassy's  arm.  "It's 
getting  higher  every  minute." 

"Give  me  room  to  think — stand,  I've  got 
an  idea!"  He  whirled  away  to  the  cashier's 
window  and  came  back  smiling.  "Got  an  ad 
vance  on  next  week's  pay.  Where's  the  ban 
dit  ...  do  you  suppose  he'd  take  it  out 
in  Universal  ?" 

The  two  hurried  to  the  elevator  and  to  the 
street.  Brassy  paid  the  man. 

"His  job  beats  the  old  three-shell  game," 
said,  Brassy,  as  he  drew  Clem  into  a  cafe.  "It's 


308  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

so  respectable  and  you  get  to  ride  all  the  time, 
too.  .  .  .  There's  something  on  your 
mind,  Mr.  Pointer.  Is  the  loved  one  business 
going  bad?  Don't  the  people  believe  it's  light 
as  a  feather  and  strong  as  a  cable?" 

"It's  not  that,"  answered  Clem,  and  ex 
plained  about  the  Southern  Development  Com 
pany. 

At  mention  of  the  Southern  Development 
Company  Brassy's  eyes  opened.  "Say,"  he  ex 
claimed,  "I  heard  Mr.  Sayers,  our  vice  presi 
dent,  talking  about  them  the  other  day  and  he 
knows  all  about  them.  They've  been  putting 
out  a  lot  of  bad  stock  and  have  been  mixed 
up  in  all  kinds  of  shady  deals.  He'll  tell  me 
how  to  go  after  them.  When  is  the  mass  meet 
ing  in  Curryville?"  drumming  his  fingers. 

"Monday  night." 

The  finger  march  stopped.  "Well,  the  Rai- 
ley  Fire-Escape  Belt  and  the  Universal  Hog 
Cholera  Cure  Company  should  have  represen 
tatives  on  the  ground.  I  guess  I  can  get  an 
other  advance  on  my  wages." 


BRASSY'S  IDEA  309 

Stepping  over  to  the  telephone  he  called  the 
information  bureau  at  the  railroad  station. 

"Say,"  Brassy  asked  anxiously,  coming  back, 
"haven't  they  got  any  other  hotel  there  besides 
the  New  Palace?" 


CHAPTER  XVII 

OUR  FAIR  CITY 

AFTER  the  attempted  lynching,  Curryville 
was  humbled.  The  generous  hearts  of  its 
citizens  were  more  than  willing  to  make  up 
for  what  a  few  of  the  worst  element  had  done. 
Doctor  Fordyce  was  quick  to  take  advantage 
of  their  regret.  Outraged  at  first  he  was  ready 
to  bring  charges  against  the  town,  when  an 
other  plan  occurred  to  him.  When  definite 
word  came  proving  his  alibi  he  flashed  the  pa 
pers  in  the  people's  faces  and  was  ready  to 
cram  them  down  their  throats.  He  talked  of 
an  expensive  lawsuit  and  of  the  damage  to  his 
reputation.  Suddenly  his  attitude  changed.  If 
the  people  of  Curryville  would  hold  an  imme 
diate  election,  condemning  the  Bellows  Bot 
tom  and  give  him  an  option  on  the  lots  for  his 
medicine  factory  he  would  say  nothing  more 
310 


OUR  FAIR  CITY  311 

about  the  great  damage  done  him  in  his  pro 
fession  as  a  physician. 

Tuesday  was  set  for  the  special  election 
which  was  to  determine  whether  or  not  all  the 
property  in  the  bottom  was  to  be  condemned 
and  offered  to  Doctor  Fordyce  for  his  prom 
ised  factory.  Curryville  had  been  in  a  state 
of  lethargy  since  the  disappearance  of  Clem 
Pointer,  but  now  it  was  all  excitement.  The 
two  sides  were  about  evenly  divided.  At  the 
city  hall  on  Monday  evening  the  question  was 
to  be  debated  and  the  voting  on  the  morrow 
would  settle  the  question  once  for  all. 

The  crowd  came  early,  massing  down  in 
front  of  the  railing. 

Outside  the  railing  sat  Hulda,  her  black 
dress  drawn  across  her  bosom  as  if  the  but 
tons  were  just  on  the  point  of  flying  off,  her 
little  black  bonnet  clamped  over  her  forehead 
as  if  no  power  could  raise  it.  Her  black  tape- 
bordered,  palm-leaf  fan  scratched  nervously 
across  the  front  of  her  black  dress,  while  both 
of  her  hands  were  rounded  into  balls  by  the 
tight-fitting  black  cotton  gloves.  By  her  side 


3i2  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

sat  Mary  Mendenhall,  as  if  hovering  near  her 
for  comfort.  Doctor  Fordyce  bowed  elabo 
rately;  she  reddened  and  responded  with  a 
formal  nod. 

Abraham  Lincoln  had  his  ax  raised,  either 
aiming  at  a  log  or  threatening  Thomas  Jeffer 
son  just  as  he  was  bending  over  his  quill  to 
attach  his  name  to  the  document  that  declares 
all  men  are  born  free  and  equal,  while  Na 
poleon,  with  his  hand  in  the  bosom  of  his  sur- 
tout,  looked  over  their  heads  far  out  to  sea. 
Gazing  into  the  calm  eye  of  the  Little  Corporal 
with  all  its  power  and  mystery  you  would 
never  guess  that  by  turning  the  Man  of  Des 
tiny  over  you  would  have  as  good  a  checker 
board  as  you  could  want. 

Rick  Oody  was  busying  himself  raising  and 
lowering  the  windows  and  opening  the  railing 
gate  when  Judge  Woodbridge  came  rolling 
down  the  aisle.  The  judge  stopped  to  lay  a 
hand  on  his  shoulder,  at  which  Rick  stiffened 
with  added  importance.  Two  boys,  whispering 
in  a  back  row,  pointed  to  Rick  and  one  of  them 
made  a  motion  as  if  drawing  an  imaginary  gun 


OUR  FAIR  CITY  313 

from  an  imaginary  hip  pocket.  All  this  so 
frustrated  Rick  that  he  went  back  and  lowered 
the  window  to  exactly  the  position  he'd  found 
it. 

Inside  the  railing  were  the  speakers.  Rev 
erend  Sadnow  and  Mr.  Kiggins,  who  were  in 
favor  of  pushing  the  vote  through  and  allow 
ing  Doctor  Fordyce  the  option,  sat  side  by 
side.  Nobody  realized  the  seriousness  of  the 
situation  more  than  the  Reverend  Sadnow; 
he  sat  crouched  down  in  his  chair  as  though 
some  great  hook  had  seized  him  under  the 
collar,  swung  him  over  the  heads  of  the  audi- . 
ence  and  dropped  him  in  a  lump  on  the  cane 
seat.  His  hands  were  out  of  sight  up  his 
sleeves  and  his  head  was  pitched  forward  on 
his  breast.  The  sadness  and  the  sins  of  the 
world  rested  heavily  on  his  shoulders;  by  his 
expression  you  would  think  that  he  had  been 
called  on  to  officiate  at  the  tearing  down  of  the 
last  pillar  of  Sodom  rather  than  to  argue  for 
a  better,  bigger,  breezier  Curryville. 

At  his  side  sat  Mr.  Kiggins,  nervously  run 
ning  his  fingers  through  his  beard,  and  casting 


314  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

a  fidgeting  eye  over  the  growing  crowd.  His 
glance  shot  here  and  there  so  that  no  one  could 
tell  whether  he  was  merely  nervous  or  was 
taking  this  opportunity  to  discover  how  many 
in  the  audience  owed  bills  at  the  White  Front. 
Still  it  was  plain  to  be  seen  that  Mr.  Kiggins 
was  a  martyr  to  the  cause ;  he  was  a  sick  man 
and  shouldn't  be  out  at  all,  let  alone  at  night. 
Only  civic  pride  would  make  him  suffer  so — 
and  a  chance  to  speak. 

Opposed  to  the  proposition  were  Mr.  Ford, 
father  of  Rencie,  and  Mr.  Knabb,  both  un 
popular  at  a  glance. 

Judge  Woodbridge  raised  the  gavel  and  the 
table  rattled.  "We  have  assembled  here  to 
night  to  discuss  pro  and  con  whether  or  not 
we  shall  condemn  by  popular  vote  to-morrow 
at  the  usual  polling  stations  the  plat  of  land 
to  the  southwest  of  the  city  of  Curryville, 
Nodaway  County,  State  of  Missouri,  Section 
twenty-one,  Range  sixty-four,  lots  one  to  for 
ty-two,  commonly  known  as  the  Bellows 
Bottom,  so  that  said  land,  property  and 
assets  may  pass  into  the  hands  of  Doc- 


OUR  FAIR  CITY  315 

tor  J.  M.  Fordyce,  his  agents,  or  party  or 
parties  whom  he  may  represent."  Judge 
Woodbridge  was  nothing  if  not  legal.  "First 
on  the  program  we  are  to  have  a  recitation  by 
Miss  Gertie  Knabb,  entitled  Curfew  Shall  Not 
Ring  To-night/' 

Gertie  came  swishing  down  the  aisle,  her 
red  bow  on  her  hair  standing  straight  out. 
Taking  her  position  she  looked  out  over  the 
audience  for  a  moment,  swallowed  something 
that  kept  trying  to  crawl  up  into  her  mouth, 
stepped  back  a  pace,  held  one  hand  over  her 
heart  and  extended  the  other  arm  full  length. 
Her  voice  was  a  little  bit  high  and  her  speak 
ing  hurried,  but  the  feeling  was  there;  when 
the  time  came  to  swing  on  the  iron  clapper 
she  waved  back  and  forth  until  the  whole  au 
dience  was  swaying  with  her.  Finally  she 
saved  the  day  and  went  to  her  seat  in  a  thun 
der  of  applause,  the  thunder  being  especially 
pronounced  where  Mr.  Knabb  sat. 

"The  discussion  will  be  opened  this  even 
ing,"  said  the  judge  in  his  heaviest  bass,  "by 
Mr.  Kiggins,  who  will  endeavor  to  show  us 


3i6  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

why  we  should  condemn  lots  one  to  forty- 
two  in  Section  twenty-one,  Range  sixty-four, 
commonly  known  as  the  Bellows  Bottom. 
It  gives  me  great  pleasure  to  present 
to  you  our  fellow-townsman,  Mr.  Kig- 
gins,  a  celebrated  speaker,  a  prominent 
citizen,  a  progressive  merchant  and  proprietor 
of  the  famous  White  Front  Hardware  Store. 
Ladies  and  gentlemen,  Mr.  Kiggins." 

A  round  of  applause  greeted  Mr.  Kiggins, 
although  every  person  in  the  hall  knew  him  by 
sight  and  name,  and  many  of  them  had  known 
him  for  twenty  years. 

Mr.  Kiggins  advanced  to  the  middle  of  the 
platform  and  seized  the  thin-legged  table  on 
which  rested  a  pitcher  of  ice-water  and  a  tum 
bler.  He  seized  a  corner  in  each  hand  as 
though  the  thin-legged  table  were  going  to  take 
to  its  heels  and  leave  him  all  alone  on  the  plat 
form.  His  heavy  hands,  more  accustomed  to 
clawing  nails  out  of  boxes,  were  never  meant 
to  restrain  a  light  table.  The  pitcher  and  glass 
huddled  together  in  fright.  Mr.  Kiggins'  eyes 
wandered  to  and  fro  over  the  audience  and 


OUR  FAIR  CITY  317 

finally  settled  on  a  steel  engraving  over  the 
door  at  the  end  of  the  hall  showing  Elihu  Bur- 
ritt,  the  learned  blacksmith,  plying  his  bellows 
with  one  hand  and  holding  a  book  in  the  other, 
absorbed  at  his  task  of  mastering  seventeen 
languages.  The  tip  of  Mr.  Kiggins'  tongue 
slipped  out  and  went  sliding  along  his  lips. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  whined  his  high 
voice,  "we  are  met  on  this  solemn  occasion  to 
discuss  a  serious  question  of  interest  to  every 
man,  woman  and  child  in  the  confines  of  our 
fair  city." 

There  could  be  no  doubt  that  it  was  a  solemn 
occasion.  Mr.  Kiggins  looked  as  if  the  last  ray 
of  hope  had  been  blotted  out  and  the  sun  had 
risen  for  the  last  time. 

"However,  it  gives  me  great  pleasure  to  ap 
pear  before  such  an  intelligent  audience,  an 
audience  composed  of  the  flower  of  the  intel 
lect  of  our  fair  city." 

The  pleasure  of  Mr.  Kiggins'  face  was  not 
very  apparent. 

"I  was  afraid  that  I  would  not  be  able  to 
appear  before  you  to-night.  This  afternoon 


3i8  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

while  I  was  helping  load  a  barrel  of  salt  I 
stepped  off  a  plank  and  jerked  my  back.  It  kind 
of  seemed  to  tear  something  out  of  me,  like 
as  if  something  caught  all  your  hair  in  one 
wad  and  gave  it  a  yank  and  lifted  up  your 
scalp  and  some  of  the  roots  still  stuck  like 
when  you  pull  up  sweet-potato  vines.  Just 
a  few  scattering  roots  catching  here  and  there 
and  the  blood  drippin'  down.  Then  the  pain 
went  up  into  this  shoulder" — Mr.  Kiggins 
swung  a  heavy  hand  under  his  arm  in  the  di 
rection  of  the  unfortunate  part — "and  settled 
there  till  this  arm  ain't  any  more  good  than 
if  it  didn't  belong  to  me.  I  hurt  this  shoulder 
fourteen  years  ago  and  it  ain't  right  yet,  and  I 
guess  :  \L  never  be.  But  I  said  I'll  stick  it  out 
ii  it  kills  me,  and  here  I  am." 

There  was  a  grim  determination  about  him 
as  if  while  the  ordeal  was  not  exactly  killing 
him  outright  it  was  slowly  sapping  his  vitality. 
The  only  way  to  bear  up  in  spite  of  the 
wrenched  shoulder  was  to  keep  a  tight  hold  on 
the  table  and  an  unwavering  eye  on  the  lin 
guistic  blacksmith. 


OUR  FAIR  CITY  319 

"I  have  always  had  the  interest  of  our  fair 
city  at  heart.  Twenty  years  ago  this  spring 
comin'  I  moved  to  Curryville  when  a  log  cabin 
where  the  post-office  now  is  and  a  grist  mill 
down  on  Diedrich  Bend  was  all  the  buildings 
there  was.  I  have  seen  this  place  grow  steadily 
from  one  store  and  a  grist  mill  to  its  present 
astonishing  size."  Mr.  Kiggins'  hand  lifted, 
completed  a  circle  which  took  in  a  territory 
seemingly  equal  to  half  the  size  of  the  coun 
try,  and  came  back  to  its  corner  with  a  heavy 
thud.  "Then  it  was  unknown ;  to-day  the  fame 
of  Curryville  has  spread  all  over  this  state, 
into  adjoining  states  and  has  gone  out,  like  a 
wave  when  you  throw  a  pebble  into  a  pond,  to 
the  two  coasts  and  even  in  Canada.  Curryville 
stands  for  fairness,  honesty,  progress.  It  is 
the  city  of  homes,  education  and  refinement. 
If  her  fame  is  still  to  increase  and  grow  until 
it  spreads  to  the  four  corners  of  the  universe 
we  must  be  progressive  and  take  on  new  fac 
tories." 

Mr.  Kiggins  was  loyal  to  his  fair  city.  To 
him  it  was  the  greatest  in  the  world;  other 


320  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

towns  might  have  more  population  but  they 
could  not  begin  to  compare  with  Curryville, 
the  city  of  homes,  education  and  refinement. 

Mr.  Kiggins  clapped  his  hands  to  his  eye. 
"What  do  I  see?"  he  demanded,  looking  past 
the  humble  blacksmith,  who  was  still  plying 
his  bellows,  into  the  dim  distance. 

The  audience  turned  involuntarily. 

"I  see  a  great  city  with  smoke  from  a  dozen 
factories  rising  up  into  the  blue  heaven ;  I  see 
paved  streets  and  merry  children  playing  on 
the  sidewalks,  and  shaded  drives  with  fine 
ladies  whizzing  up  and  down  them  in  automo 
biles,  and  men  bowing  and  taking  off  their  hats 
to  'em.  I  see  a  new  city  hall  out  of  white  mar 
ble  and  pigeons  on  the  ridge-pole  cooing  to  their 
mates,  and  people  down  the  street  in  silk  hats, 
and  when  one  man  comes  riding  down  the 
street  in  his  automobile  a  cheer  rends  the  air. 
Who  is  that  man  ?" 

Mr.  Kiggins  paused  dramatically.  The  au 
dience  turned  anxiously  as  if  to  see  if  by  any 
Chance  it  could  be  the  ambitious  blacksmith. 


OUR  FAIR  CITY  321 

"Who  is  the  man  that  is  responsible  for  all 
this?" 

Mr.  Kiggins  raised  his  thick  finger  and 
moved  it  around  over  the  audience  trying  to 
locate  the  party.  But  the  man  referred  to 
wasn't  in  sight.  Mr.  Kiggins  looked  nervously 
over  the  hall  again  but  still  couldn't  find  him. 
His  listeners  followed  the  finger  expectantly. 

"I  repeat  it,  who  is  that  man?"  The  finger 
traveled  once  more  over  the  crowd.  "The  man 
is  well  known,"  filled  in  Mr.  Kiggins,  search 
ing  everywhere,  "I  might  say  he  is  well  known 
to  every  citizen  in  Curryville — yes,  to  every 
man,  woman  and  child  in  our  fair  city.  He 
stands  for  fairness,  honesty,  progress.  It  is 
the  city  of  homes,  education  and  refinement. 
If  her  fame — " 

Doctor  Fordyce  appeared  in  the  door. 

"There,  there  he  is!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Kig 
gins  excitedly,  while  the  whole  audience  turned 
on  the  new  arrival.  "His  name  is — is — "  He 
stammered  and  colored  while  his  hand  swung 
back  to  its  corner.  The  name  wouldn't  come. 


322  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

"His  name  is — known  to  every  man,  woman 
and  child  in  our  fair  city.  It  is  useless  for  me 
to  repeat  it.  He  is  the  man  who  is  going  to 
make  the  name  of  Curryville  heard  round  the 
world.  When  all  his  factories  get  goin'  turn 
ing  off  his  medicine  and  trucks  backing  up  and 
derricks  loading  them  on,  every  bottle  will  be 
an  advertisement  for  our  fair  city.  On  the 
wrapper  of  each  one  will  be  'Dr.  Fordyce's 
Herb  Specific — Made  in  Curryville — Accept  no 
substitute.'  These  bottles  will  set  on  people's 
pantry  shelves  year  in  and  year  out  and  the 
name  of  Curryville  will  be  constantly  before 
'em.  Every  time  they  go  into  the  kitchen  or 
take  a  dose  of  medicine  they  will  think  of  our 
fair  city.  Papers  will  write  it  up;  they'll  put 
pictures  of  it  on  post-cards  and  property '11 
double  in  value.  We'll  vote  on  it  and  the 
county  seat  of  Nodaway  County  will  be  moved 
to  Curryville  and  mebbe  a  sky-scraper  will  go 
up  where  the  White  Front  now  is." 

Cheers  burst  forth,  lead  perceptibly  by  Mrs. 
Kiggins.  Mr.  Kiggins'  speech  was  a  success; 
the  White  Front  had  been  mentioned.  Under 


OUR  FAIR  CITY  323 

a  fire  of  admiring  eyes  Mr.  Kiggins  grasped 
the  glass  with  his  heavy  fingers,  gulped  a  drink 
and  sat  down. 

During  the  applause  Rick  Oody  slipped  out 
unobserved. 

Mr.  Ford  was  introduced  to  answer  Mr. 
Kiggins,  but  plainly  his  was  not  the  popular 
side.  Hardly  a  ripple  of  applause  helped  him 
to  his  seat.  Curryville  wanted  the  Fordyce 
factories. 

Reverend  Sadnow  was  presented  by  Judge 
Woodbridge  to  answer  Mr.  Ford  and  back  up 
Mr.  Kiggins. 

"Brethren  and  sisters,"  greeted  Reverend 
Sadnow  sadly,  taking  his  position  squarely  be 
hind  the  table,  both  hands  out  of  sight  in  his 
sleeves,  "all  things  must  change.  Grass  withers 
before  the  morning  sun.  The  temples  of  yester 
day  are  dust  under  our  feet  to-day.  No  one 
knoweth  whither  we  goeth;  no  one  knoweth 
whence  we  came.  We  are  alive  to-day  and 
buried  to-morrow.  Still,  while  we  hover  as  a 
shadow  on  this  terrestrial  footstool  it  behooves 
us  to  do  all  we  can  to  advance.  We  are  as  a 


324  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

breath  on  the  window-pane  but  we  can  strive 
higher,  even  during  that  brief  moment.  The 
potentate  of  to-day  feeds  the  worms  of  to 
morrow,  but  we  can  live  this  hurried  hour  so 
that  when  we  lie  down  on  the  couch  and  draw 
the  counterpane  over  us  we  can  go  into  that 
unknown  void  from  which  no  pilgrim  returns 
without  a  tremble  or  the  quiver  of  an  eyelid." 

Reverend  Sadnow  looked  sadly  around  as  if 
any  moment  expecting  to  see  some  breath  fade 
from  the  window  or  some  hovering  shadow 
pass  from  this  terrestrial  footstool.  The  au 
dience  had  been  in  good  humor  when  Mr.  Kig- 
gins  sat  down,  but  now  it  began  worrying 
about  the  grass  withering  before  the  matutinal 
solar  onslaught  and  what  would  happen  to  the 
poor  unsuspecting  potentates.  Reverend  Sad- 
now's  mission  in  life  seemed  to  be  to  tell 
everybody  not  to  laugh  since  before  you  finish 
you  might  be  called  into  that  unknown  void 
from  which  no  pilgrim  returns. 

One  little  gleam  of  hope  flickered  through 
the  clouds.  If  the  good  citizens  of  Curryville 
would  vote  favorably  on  the  morrow  and  all 


OUR  FAIR  CITY  325 

should  get  to  work  at  once  building  a  bigger, 
better,  brighter  Curryville,  taking  care  to  see 
that  the  church  was  reroofed,  they  possibly 
might  get  something  done  before  the  breath 
faded.  Still  it  must  be  remembered  that  all 
flesh  was  grass  and  that  Sodom  and  Gomor 
rah  were  destroyed  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye 
and  that  no  time  was  to  be  lost — especially 
about  fixing  up  the  church. 

Mr.  Knabb  tried  to  bolster  up  Mr.  Ford's 
attack,  but  those  against  the  condemnation 
were  fighting  up-hill. 

Mr.  Kiggins  was  allowed  a  few  minutes  for 
rebuttal. 

"To-morrow  will  go  down  in  history,"  said 
Mr.  Kiggins  from  behind  the  table.  "In  years 
to  come  it  will  be  a  holiday  and  there  will  be 
speeches  in  honor  of  the  man  who  came  here 
a  stranger  and  we  took  him  in.  A  bronze  tab 
let  may  be  erected  on  this  very  spot  to  com 
memorate  our  great  victory.  Our  schools  will 
be  the  best,  our  factories  the  busiest,  our  fire 
department  the  most  up-to-date  in  the  whole 
state  of  Missouri.  There  is  one  person  to 


326  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

whom" —  Mr.  Kiggins  thought  a  moment  and 
went  back  to  the  word  with  pride — "to  whom 
most  of  the  honor  is  due.  Had  he  not  been 
snatched  from  our  midst  things  would  never 
have  come  to  a  focus.  It  is  to  him  the  bronze 
tablet  should  be  erected.  If  anybody  wants  to 
take  up  a  collection,  the  White  Front  will  be 
the  first  one  to  throw  in."  Hulda  loosened  her 
black-bordered  handkerchief  from  her  belt  and 
lifted  it  to  her  face  under  shelter  of  the  palm 
leaf.  "Need  I  mention  the  name?" 

"No,  Mr.  Kiggins,  we  all  know  the  brother 
you  mean,"  said  Reverend  Sadnow  in  his 
deepest  voice.  "Two  months  ago  well  and 
happy,  now  only  a  blessed  memory." 

"What  would  he  say  about  the  election  if  he 
was  here?"  demanded  Mr.  Kiggins,  swinging  a 
thick  thumb  toward  the  fire  house.  "He  owned 
lots  there  and  stood  for  fairness,  honesty  and 
progress  in  this  city  of  homes,  education  and 
refinement.  What  would  he  say?" 

There  was  a  commotion  at  the  back  end  of 
the  hall,  just  under  the  studious  blacksmith, 


OUR  FAIR  CITY  327 

and  Rick  Oody,  in  advance  of  two  men,  called 
out  at  the  top  of  his  voice: 

"He'd  say 'No!'" 

Rick  stepped  aside  and  there  was  Clem  hesi 
tating  in  the  light,  his  face  wrinkled  into  a 
dozen  smiles.  At  his  side  was  Brassy. 

Mr.  Kiggins'  finger  stopped  in  mid-air  and 
pointed  to  the  wrinkled  and  smiling  man,  as  if 
he  could  not  move  it  away.  Every  head  in  the 
audience  turned;  a  boy  close  down  in  front 
stood  up  and  soon  the  whole  audience  was 
standing,  all  staring  breathless  and  open- 
mouthed.  The  silence  held  while  the  smiling 
man  bowed  and  waved  a  friendly  hand  in  his 
old  familiar  gesture. 

Rencie's  high  voice  was  the  first  to  break 
the  silence:  "It's  him,"  he  screamed. 

Hulda  carefully  laid  her  bordered  fan  to  one 
side,  leaned  over  and  fainted  on  Mrs.  Kiggins' 
shoulder. 

Reverend  Sadnow  came  to  his  feet,  pulled 
his  hands  out  and  lifted  one  on  high.  "The 
dead  hath  arisen,"  he  boomed  in  his  deepest 
bass. 


328  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

Mr.  Kiggins  walked  to  the  edge  of  the  plat 
form  and  bent  far  over.  "It's  Clem  Pointer !" 
he  exclaimed  as  if  breaking  the  news  to  the 
others.  "Just  like  he  allus  was." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

JUST  LIKE  HIM 

THE  silence  that  pressed  over  all  in  the 
court  room  broke  and  the  hall  was  in  an 
uproar,  everybody  talking  at  once.  As  Clem 
passed  slowly  down  the  aisle,  bowing  and  smil 
ing,  the  people  drew  back  in  their  seats;  and 
once  when  he  reached  out  his  hand  the  person 
drew  back  as  if  demanding  that  the  proffered 
palm  be  proved  earthly. 

Slowly  Clem  worked  his  way  to  the  front, 
until  he  reached  the  long  upright  bench  where 
Hulda  sat.  In  a  moment  his  arm  was  around 
her  waist,  and  under  the  pressure  her  eyes 
opened.  "Is  it  really  you,  Clem?"  she  whis 
pered,  patting  him  on  the  cheek. 

"Yes,  Hulda,  dear,"  his  answer  so  slow  that 
even  Mrs.  Kiggins  heard  nothing. 

When  he  released  her  he  turned  expectantly 
329 


330  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

toward  Miss  Mendenhall.  By  this  time  the  hall 
was  in  an  uproar,  people  calling  his  name,  cry 
ing  out  messages  of  welcome  to  him,  words  of 
surprise  and  sentences  of  wonder  that  he  was 
still  alive.  Half  a  hundred  were  asking  him 
questions  to  which  there  was  no  answer  and 
as  many  more  were  reaching  out  hands  to  wel 
come  him  back.  But  to  all  this  Clem  gave  no 
heed.  He  was  looking  steadily  at  Mary  Men 
denhall. 

The  girl's  face  colored  and  she  swayed 
slightly,  but  soon  recovered  herself.  Doctor 
Fordyce's  poison  had  eaten  in.  Remembrance 
of  all  that  he  had  said  against  Clem  came 
rushing  upon  her;  if  Clem  had  made  those  in 
sinuations  against  her  she  wanted  nothing  to 
do  with  him. 

Both  of  Clem's  hands  went  out  to  her  and 
his  eyes  grew  large  before  her.  Then  she 
turned  her  back  on  him. 

The  clamor  died  away,  away  as  if  it  were 
on  the  far  side  of  a  hundred  hjHs.  He  almost 
regretted  that  he  had  come  back.  Something 
besides  love  of  his  city  and  the  desire  to  save 


JUST  LIKE  HIM  331 

it  in  its  hour  of  trouble  had  brought  him  back 
to  Curryville.  Now  this  something  had  de 
liberately  struck  at  him. 

Gradually  he  realized  that  somebody  was 
speaking  to  him.  There  was  a  far-away  fa 
miliar  look  about  the  figure.  It  was  talking 
to  him.  At  last  his  eyes  came  to  a  focus  on 
it  and  he  saw  that  it  was  Doctor  Fordyce. 

"We're  glad  to  welcome  you  back,"  the  doc 
tor  was  saying.  "Although  you  have  made 
me  suffer  much  and  brought  much  sorrow  upon 
me,  all  is  forgiven.  Without  the  comfort  of 
Miss  MendenhalTs  strength,  I  don't  know  how 
I  could  have  stood  it.  She  has  been  such  a 
help—" 

This  was  salt  to  the  wound. 

Doctor  Fordyce  watched  the  effect  of  his 
words.  As  he  turned  his  face  aside  he  smiled 
slightly.  He  was  satisfied. 

The  people  thronged  around  Clem,  asking  a 
hundred  questions  and  satisfied  with  one  an 
swer.  Where  had  he  been  ?  What  was  the  mat 
ter?  How  was  he  feeling  and  did  he  know 
about  the  fire  in  the  livery  barn? 


332  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

Judge  Woodbridge  worked  his  way  down 
the  aisle.  "Isn't  he  a  sight  for  sore  eyes?"  he 
asked  Hulda,  standing  delightedly  near  her. 
"Clem's  an  awfully  nice  boy.  He's  oil  to  this 
town — it  hasn't  run  right  since  he  left." 

Hulda  beamed  and  in  response  slipped  her 
hand  into  her  brother's  arm. 

Judge  Woodbridge,  after  a  smile  equally  di 
vided  between  Hulda  and  Clem,  edged  down 
to  the  platform  and  pounded  with  his  gavel. 
"I  think  we  have  covered  the  question  of  vot 
ing  pretty  well,"  said  Judge  Woodbridge. 
"Everybody  think  it  over  and  to-morrow 
everybody  turn  out  and  do  his  duty  as  a  citi 
zen." 

"That's  right,"  sang  out  Doctor  Fordyce, 
"everybody  turn  out  and  help  put  Curryville 
on  the  map.  There's  just  one  way  to  do  that — 
vote  her  straight." 

A  figure  came  plowing  down  the  aisle  and 
leaped  up  on  the  platform.  It  was  Rick  Oody. 
His  fingers  went  into  his  mouth  and  brought 
forth  a  whistle  with  more  effect  than  Judge 
Woodbridge's  gavel  had  ever  accomplished. 


o 

Hi 


U 


JUST  LIKE  HIM  333 

"Ladies  and  gen'lemen  and  everybody," 
called  out  Rick,  "it  ain't  all  over  yet.  Mr. 
Pointer  wants  to  say  a  few  words." 

A  dozen  hands  buoyed  Clem  along  to  the 
platform. 

Judge  Woodbridge  was  flustered  by  the  ex 
citement  of  it  all,  but  felt  that  he  must  say 
something  by  way  of  introduction.  "Ladies 
and  gen'lemen,"  he  said  in  Rick's  manner 
without  knowing  it,  "the  fatted  son  has  re 
turned  to  the  prodigal  calf.  It  will  now 
speak!" 

Clem's  eye  roved  the  hall  a  moment,  passing 
by  the  scholarly  blacksmith  that  had  been  such 
an  inspiration  to  Mr.  Kiggins,  and  wavered  be 
tween  Hulda  and  Miss  Mendenhall.  "Friends, 
I  am  not  going  into  details  now  of  where  I 
have  been  or  anything  about  it — that'll  come 
out  later.  There's  something  else  I  want  to  talk 
about. 

"When  I  came  to  this  town  it  wasn't  much 
bigger  than  a  pound  of  soap  after  a  hard  day's 
washing,"  Clem  went  on,  seemingly  at  random, 
"and  now  look  at  our  new  overall  factory  and 


334  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

the  new  acetylene  gas  plant.  We  have  stood 
side  by  side  and  fought  for  a  better  city.  A 
couple  of  years  ago  it  looked  like  we  might 
have  it  when  that  man  wearing  a  tall  hat  came 
here  and  talked  about  a  railroad.  But  that 
died  down  and  we  had  a  pun' kin  show  to  boost 
things.  Then  Doctor  Fordyce  came." 

Doctor  Fordyce  smiled  and  rocked  content 
edly  back  and  forth  on  his  heels. 

"I  remember  what  a  hard  struggle  we  all 
had  boosting  for  Curryville  and  how  the  time 
the  lightning  rod  agents  came  and  got  Uncle 
Wash  Hoosher  to  sign  a  contract  for  sixty 
dollars,  and  when  it  turned  out  to  be  six  thou 
sand  dollars  how  we  all  stuck  together  and — 
and  Uncle  Wash's  still  got  his  little  eighty.  I 
recollect  the  time  the  Hinkson  got  on  a  ram 
page  and  washed  the  roof  off  the  Kennedy 
house  and  how  we  all  turned  out  and  built  'em 
a  new  house  up  the  hill  in  two  days — and  Judge 
Woodbridge  give  'em  the  bed  out  from  under 
him  and  had  to  sleep  at  the  New  Palace  for 
two  nights — now  didn't  you,  Judge?" 


JUST  LIKE  HIM  335 

Judge  Woodbridge  suddenly  found  it  neces 
sary  to  examine  the  head  of  the  gavel. 

"I  don't  have  to  look  back  very  far  to 
the  time  four  masked  men  swooped  down 
on  the  First  National  and  how  we 
got  'em  surrounded  in  the  timber  down 
the  river,  and  that's  why  Mr.  Knabb  has  to  set 
with  one  leg  stuck  out  in  front  of  him — you 
can  see  him  now — and  never  a  word  of  com 
plaint  from  him.  And  the  time  the  ice  fell 
down  the  brick  water-tower  and  smashed  it 
open  like  a  wet  bag,  who  was  it  that  run  out 
in  his  bare  feet,  grabbed  Grandma  Goodson 
out  of  bed  and  carried  her  away  before  the 
water  and  ice  knocked  in  the  side  of  the  house  ? 
Yes,  who  was  it,  Jim  Ford?  I  could  go  right 
through  every  one  of  you  and  tell  something 
that  way.  When  anything  goes  wrong  with 
one  of  us  we  are  all  brothers.  We  have  our 
little  differences  and  squabble  a  bit  now  and 
then,  but  bigger  hearts  never  beat  than  we  got 
right  here  in  Curryville. 

"Now  another  danger  has  come  up.    The 


336  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

man  with  the  tall  hat  has  come  back  and  is 
planning  a  railroad  through  Curryville.  From 
the  headquarters  of  the  railroad  the  tip  got  out 
and  they  found  about  where  the  road  was 
planned  and  a  company  of  speculators  is  try 
ing  to  get  an  option  on — on  the  Bellows  Bot 
toms!  Once  they  get  an  option  on  it  Curryville' 
will  have  to  buy  the  land  back  from  them  to 
hold  out  an  inducement  to  the  railroad.  The 
name  of  this  company  that  is  trying  to  get  the 
option  is  the  Southern  Development  Company. 
Their  personal  representative  is  in  this  hall  to 
night."  Eyes  turned  around  to  Brassy  in  the 
back  part  of  the  hall  as  being  the  only  avail 
able  stranger  present.  "He  don't  wear  a  tall 
hat  but  he  does  have  on  a  long-tailed  coat. 
Probably  Doctor  Fordyce  has  heard  of  the 
Southern  Development  Company." 

Doctor    Fordyce    stopped    rocking    on    his 
heels. 

"I  am  sure  I  don't  know  what  you  mean." 
"Perhaps  this  will  refresh  your  memory," 
holding   up  a   telegram.      "It   is   dated    from 
Curryville.   I  will  read  it: 


JUST  LIKE  HIM  33^ 

"  'Hop  picking  southeast  by  east  Tuesday  or 
Rover  dies  a  dead  dog. — Fordyce.' ' 

"Sammie,"  asked  Clem,  turning  to  the  sta 
tion  boy,  "do  you  remember  sending  this  tele 
gram  ?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Sammie,  "but  it  didn't 
make  any  sense  to  me !" 

"It  was  not  intended  it  should.  It  is  in  cipher 
and  the  word  Tuesday  means  that  the  election 
will  be  held  to-morrow.  Does  that  bring  back 
anything  to  you,  Doctor  Fordyce?"  the  accent 
heavy  on  Doctor. 

"Nothing  whatever,"  returned  Doctor  For 
dyce  coldly.  "Probably  the  same  thing  that 
made  you  leave  town  is  now  causing  you  to 
bring  this  accusation."  He  tapped  his  forehead 
significantly. 

"That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  returned 
Clem. 

"I  insist  that  it  has,"  declared  the  other  ag 
gressively. 

"Maybe,  maybe,"  said  Clem  sweetly,  "it  was 
to  collect  evidence  against  you.  Has  any  one 
ever  seen  any  of  your  wonderful  medicine? 


338  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

It's  true  you  have  a  medical  license,  but  where 
have  you  practised  in  the  last  few  years  ?  You 
no  more  intended  to  put  up  a  medicine  factory 
on  the  Bellows  Bottoms  than  you  expected  me 
to  come  back  to-night."  There  was  a  flash  and 
a  defiance  about  Clem  that  no  one  had  ever 
seen  before.  "I  think  the  hop  picking  Tuesday 
will  be  a  bit  harder  than  you  calculated." 

"You  have  no  evidence  at  all  except  a  tele 
gram  in  a  cipher  which  has  to  do  with  order 
ing  supplies  for  the  factory." 

"Do  you  usually  order  supplies  in  cipher?" 
"This  is  the  first  order  and  it  saves  words. 
Besides,  that  is  only  a  circumstance — didn't 
the  mob  come  just  because  one  of  the  town 
boys  found  my  watch-charm  near  where  you 
left  your  hat  and  coat  when  you  played  that 
deceitful  game?  Hadn't  I  been  showing  it  to 
you  and  hadn't  you  dropped  it  into  your  pocket 
by  mistake  and  forgot  all  about  it?  This  is 
much  less  evidence  and  you  wish  to  make 
charges  against  me  on  such  a  flimsy  pretext. 
I  can  not  but  believe  that  you  have  suffered 
some  cerebral  accident."  Doctor  Fordyce 


JUST  LIKE  HIM  339 

touched  his  head  again  to  show  just  what  he 
meant. 

Clem  wavered  a  moment  then  collected  him 
self.  "Why  do  you  have  to  telegraph  to  the 
Southern  Development  Company  to  order  sup 
plies?"  he  shot  at  the  confident  doctor. 

Doctor  Fordyce  wavered.  "Because — I  am 
— because  they  are  my  age — because,  don't  you 
see,  I  could  not  swing  this  whole  deal  myself 
and  had  to  get  somebody  to  put  in  money  with 
me." 

"So  you  are  connected  with  the  Southern 
Development  Company?" 

"Yes." 

'  Are  you  their  agent  ?" 

Doctor  Fordyce  cast  around  for  the  right 
answer.  "Not  that,  but  there  is  an  under 
standing." 

"Were  you  ever  in  Joplin?"  asked  Clem 
quickly. 

"Yes." 

"Were  you  the  agent  of  this  company  there 
last  year?" 

"I  can't  see  that  that  has  anything  to  do  with 


340  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

the  voting  to-morrow.  It  seems  to  me  we  are 
wasting  good  time." 

"You  are  the  man  who  put  through  that 
crooked  mining  deal  there — only  Fordyce 
wasn't  your  name  then.  And  what  about  the 
timber  deal  in  Texas  County,  this  state?  It 
might  be  interesting  to  you  to  know  that  in  a 
few  days  you  will  have  to  answer  these  things 
for  the  benefit  of  the  prosecuting  attorney. 
There  is  a  gentleman  here  to-night  that  I  want 
to  say  a  few  words.  He  has  met  Mr.  Fordyce 
before."  Clem  drew  out  the  Mister  with  evi 
dent  relish.  "He  is  a  very  dear  friend  of  mine 
— Mr.  Hagan." 

Rick  Oody  opened  up  a  way,  and  from  the 
rear  of  the  hall  came  the  rotund  and  smiling 
Brassy.  His  clothes  were  neater  and  there  was 
about  him  a  more  substantial  look. 

At  sight  of  the  new  speaker  Miss  Mary 
Mendenhall  caught  her  breath  and  edged  over 
toward  Hulda,  her  face  burning. 

Brassy  stumbled  toward  the  table  and  an 
chored.  Naturally  at  home  with  words  and 
master  of  them  before  a  small  circus  crowd, 


JUST  LIKE  HIM  341 

his  tongue  now  refused  its  mission.  He  stared 
over  the  heads  of  the  audience,  but  sight  of  the 
hard-working  mechanic  over  the  rear  door 
brought  no  inspiration  to  him.  Brassy  held  on 
to  the  table  as  if  all  was  lost  save  honor. 

"This  gentleman,"  said  Brassy,  pointing  to 
Doctor  Fordyce,  "if  I  may  use  the  term,  and 
I  have  met  before,  I  am  sorry  to  say.  I'd  be  a 
lot  better  off  to-day  if  I'd  never  formed  his 
acquaintance.  So  would  my  town.  When  he 
got  through  with  us  there  wasn't  much  left  ex 
cept  our  stand  pipe  and  only  its  size  made  it 
safe." 

Doctor  Fordyce  popped  up.  "Yes,  we  have 
met  before,  and  I  am  surprised  that  he  should 
wish  to  recall  the  event.  There  is  a  presence 
in  this  hall  to-night  that  keeps  me  from  telling 
what  I  know  about  this  man.  If  I  should  tell 
some  of  the  things  that  I  know  about  him,  just 
and  indignant  citizens  would  never  let  him 
spend  the  night  inside  the  city  limits.  As  long 
as  I  respect  womanhood  I  shall  not  tell  the 
public  what  I  know  about  this  man." 

The  audience  was  under  Fordyce's  spell,  and 


342  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

Brassy  realized  what  he  must  overcome.  He 
straightened  up  at  this  scent  of  battle. 

''He  needn't  tell  you  about  me — I'll  tell  you 
more  than  he  can.  He  means  that  I  used  to 
drink  and  gamble  and  was  a  follower  of  the 
circus.  That's  what  he  means — and  I  was.  But 
I've  reformed.  Even  at  my  worst  I  didn't  drag 
anybody  else  down,  while  this  man  Fordyce  has 
destroyed  whole  towns  just  as  he  is  intending 
to  destroy  this  one.  I'll  admit  that  my  family 
is  ashamed  of  me,  but  they're  going  to  be 
proud  of  me  yet.  Every  word  that  Mr.  Pointer 
has  told  you  to-night  about  this  man  is  true — • 
and  he  has  barely  scratched  the  surface.  In 
a  few  days  the  prosecuting  attorney  will  tell 
you  more  about  him." 

He  addressed  Fordyce  directly.  "Since 
I  saw  you  last  I  have  thrown  over 
followin'  the  circus  and  am  now  making 
an  honest  living.  Our  president,  Mr.  Sayers — 
I  guess  you  know  who  he  is — is  on  your  trail, 
too.  The  police  in  Kansas  City  are  acquaint 
ances  of  yours.  You  have  met  them.  You 
made  such  an  impression  on  them  that  they 


JUST  LIKE  HIM  343 

took  prints  of  your  fingers  to  remember  you. 
And  here  is  something  interesting."  Calmly, 
deliberately,  Brassy's  hand  went  into  his 
pocket,  and  in  the  hush  that  held  all  over  the 
hall,  brought  out  two  photographs.  "One  is 
a  front  view  and  the  other  is  a  side  view.  You 
didn't  have  all  that  beard  then,  that's  the  only 
difference.  They  didn't  charge  you  anything 
for  makin'  these  pictures.  The  concern  that 
made  them  does  quite  a  bit  of  free  photograph 
ing.  You'll  see  down  at  the  bottom  it  says, 
'Photo  by  the  Department  of  Police.'  I  guess 
we  know  which  shell  you're — " 

Brassy  stopped,  speechless.  His  lips  parted, 
then  closed  without  framing  a  single  word. 
His  eyes  were  fastened  on  Miss  Mary  Men- 
denhall. 

Doctor  Fordyce  was  quick  to  seize  the  op 
portunity.  Edging  over  he  stood  protectingly 
by  Mary's  side.  "Well,  why  don't  you  go  on?" 
he  demanded.  "Why  do  you  keep  staring  at 
Miss  Mendenhall  so?" 

"Miss  Mendenhall?"  gasped  Brassy. 

"Yes,  Miss  Mendenhall.    I  resent  it.    I  do 


344  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

not  propose  to  have  a  drunken  outcast  come 
in  here  and  stare  at  a  young  lady  in  that  way." 

The  audience  stood  in  hushed  silence,  trying 
to  keep  up  with  the  changing  scene.  Brassy's 
face  worked  convulsively  for  a  moment,  then 
he  backed  toward  a  chair  and  covered  his  eyes. 

Fordyce  climbed  on  a  bench  the  better  to  ex 
ercise  his  power.  "Friends,"  dropping  his  tone 
to  one  of  entreaty,  "that  is  an  example  of  the 
men  who  are  opposing  me.  Cowards,  every 
one.  They  are  attacking  me  when  I  am  trying 
to  do  something  to  build  up  Curryville.  Truly 
ingratitude  is  sharper  than  a  serpent's  tooth. 
My  good  people,  stop  and  think  for  just  one 
moment  what  you  are  doing.  Here  is  some 
thing  to  remember.  Crowds  act  hastily  and  do 
things  that  they  bitterly  regret  afterward. 
You  will  remember  you  thought  you  had 
enough  evidence  to  convict  me  that  night  when 
— I  hate  to  speak  it — when  the  mob  came.  A 
pair  of  twisted  and  bent  spectacles,  belonging 
to  Mr.  Pointer,  were  found  in  my  room  at  the 
hotel  by  a  boy.  When  I  told  you  that  Clem 


JUST  LIKE  HIM  345 

had  forgotten  them  the  day  he  came  to  my 
room  and  I  gave  him  the  monkey  you  did  not 
believe  me.  A  watch-charm  belonging  to  me 
was  found  by  the  river  where  the  supposed 
crime  had  been  committed.  When  I  told  you 
that  I  had  given  it  to  him  and  that  he  had 
dropped  it  you  refused  to  believe  me.  Both 
statements  have  since  turned  out  to  be  true. 
To-morrow  you  people  who  wish  to  act  hastily 
to-night  will  be  ashamed  of  yourselves.  Now, 
dear  friends,  is  it  fair  to  take  this  unknown 
man's  word  against  mine?" 

Not  a  word  was  spoken  by  any  one  in  the 
audience,  but  still  it  could  be  seen  that  sym 
pathy  was  running  toward  Doctor  Fordyce. 

"This  man  comes  in  here,  no  one  knowing 
who  he  is,  and  attacks  me  in  public.  The  word 
of  a  tramp  is  taken  before  mine.  I  have  tried 
to  build  up  this  town  and  am  just  on  the  eve  of 
establishing  a  new  era  here,  when  you  allow 
this  outsider  to  come  in  and  smirch  my  char 
acter.  Not  content  with  that  he  must  stare  at 
and  discomfit  one  of  our  young  ladies.  What 


346  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

shall  we  do  with  the  scoundrel?  Shall  we 
throw  him  out?"  Doctor  Fordyce  held  up  his 
hand  in  an  appeal. 

There  was  a  shuffling  of  feet  and  uneasiness, 
as  if  a  giant  man  was  making  up  his  mind. 
Plainly  sympathy  was  swinging  to  Doctor  For 
dyce  and  he  knew  it.  "Sure,  throw  him  out," 
called  out  a  voice,  and  the  shuffling  of  feet 
grew  heavier. 

"That's  right,"  backed  up  another  voice. 
"Throw  him  out." 

Somebody  stepped  in  the  aisle  and  a  seat  was 
dragged  aside  as  if  to  make  room. 

Before  any  one  realized  it  Mary  Mendenhall 
was  on  her  feet  and  standing  at  the  edge  of 
the  platform.  "Friends,  I  wish  to  say  some 
thing,"  she  began,  and  all  eyes  swung  to  her. 
Her  voice  was  not  loud  but  there  was  a  sup 
pression  in  her  manner  that  drew  instant  atten 
tion.  "I  think  I  know  why  the  speaker  before 
Doctor  Fordyce  could  not  go  on.  I  think  I 
know  why  I  was  stared  at  so  by  this  same  per 
son,  and  I  think  in  me  rests  the  solution  of  the 
whole  affair." 


JUST  LIKE  HIM  342 

She  paused  and  the  audience  stared  eagerly 
and  listened  breathlessly. 

"It  is  because  this  man  is  my  father." 

No  one  moved ;  there  was  not  even  the  shuf 
fling  of  feet.  But  the  full  significance  had  not 
yet  burst  on  them. 

"He  is  my  father.  He  had  no  idea  I  was 
here,  and  that  is  the  reason  he  was  so  surprised 
to  see  me.  Over  some  hot  words  I  left  home. 
I  have  cried  many  a  night  since  on  account  of 
my  foolish  stubbornness.  I  have  been  using 
only  my  first  and  middle  names  here  and  in 
writing  my  books.  I  believe  every  word  that 
my  father  has  said  about  his  reforming  and 
I  want  to  stand  up  here  before  you  all  and 
say  that  I  am  sorry  I  left  home  and  that  if  my 
father  will  take  me  back  I'll  go  with  a  happy 
heart." 

Brassy's  eyes  were  fastened  on  her,  his  soul 
drinking  in  the  words.  When  she  turned 
toward  him  he  rushed  up  and  clasped  her  in 
his  arms. 

"I  don't  know  whether  to  say  something  or 
not  about  Doctor  Fordyce,"  she  faltered,  tuck- 


348  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

ing  back  a  strand  of  hair.  She  was  feminine 
even  in  her  moment  of  suspense.  "I  hate  to 
attack  a  person,  but  I  feel  that  you  should 
know  something  about  this  Doctor  Fordyce. 
He  has  known  all  along  who  I  am  and  has 
threatened  to  tell — to  tell  what  my  father  has 
just  told  you  about  himself.  He  has  used  this 
as  a  club  over  my  head  and  I  foolishly  have 
said  nothing.  Now  that  I  have  my  father  back 
I  don't  care  what  happens." 

Again  her  face  went  on  his  shoulder  and 
Brassy's  thick  hand  patted  her  tenderly. 

There  was  no  holding  the  crowd  back  as 
they  came  surging  around  father  and  daughter 
to  offer  congratulations,  while  Doctor  Fordyce 
stood  alone  in  the  corner,  moody  and  sullen. 

"So  you  used  to  travel  with  a  circus,  did 
you?"  asked  Mrs.  Kiggins.  "I  want  you  to 
come  over  and  visit  us.  I  know  you  got  a  lot 
of  good  stories.  I  love  to  meet  circus  people." 

Clem  wormed  his  way  through  the  maze  of 
arms  extended  to  shake  hands  with  him  and 
reached  Mary's  side.  She  faced  him  and  their 
eyes  met,  but  she  would  not  be  the  first  to  give 


JUST  LIKE  HIM  349 

in.  She  would  be  feminine,  so  stared  coldly 
for  a  moment,  then  lowered  her  eyes. 

The  meeting  turned  into  a  reception,  all 
struggling  for  a  word  with  Clem.  He  ought 
to  have  been  perfectly  happy,  but  he  was  not. 
Instead  he  was  miserable.  It  was  the  first  time 
in  all  his  life  he  had  been  miserable  in  a  way 
that  he  couldn't  put  his  hand  on  the  pain. 

Mrs.  Kiggins  elbowed  up.  "Don't  things 
come  out  curious?"  she  panted,  reaching  for 
Clem's  hand.  "Just  night  before  last  I  had  the 
strangest  dream.  I  seemed  to  be  settin'  in  a 
great  jumble  of  something — might  'a'  been  peo 
ple — and  all  of  a  sudden  a  cloud  opened — it 
might  'a'  been  a  door — and  there  was  you,  Mr. 
Pointer,  standing  before  me  smilin'.  I  could 
see  you  plain  as  life.  I  didn't  say  anything 
about  it  to  anybody  because  I  know  how  it 
makes  them  feel,  but  I  could  'a'  put  my  hand 
on  you.  You  remember  I  prophesied  the  death 
of  the  little  Kimmons  girl  that  was  killed  in 
the  railroad  switch.  People  who  have  such 
gifts  should  appreciate  'em,  shouldn't  they? 
You're  looking  well,  Mr.  Pointer." 


350  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

Judge  Woodbridge  and  Mr.  Ford,  who  had 
been  talking  in  the  corner,  came  bustling  up 
and  seized  Clem,  one  around  the  shoulders  and 
the  other  about  the  ankles. 

"You've  saved  Curryville,"  announced  the 
judge,  "and  you're  the  biggest  hero  this  city 
ever  saw,  and  we're  going  to  ride  you  down 
the  street  on  our  shoulders." 

Up  went  Clem,  squirming  and  blushing.  A 
shout  roused  the  rafters  and  every  eye  was 
turned  on  him.  "Quit,  boys,  I'm  no  hero.  I've 
got  enough  to  be  ashamed  of,  so  let  me  go ;  and 
besides,  anybody  else  would  have  done  just 
what  I  have."  His  tone  was  firm.  "Put  me 
down,  boys." 

At  last  they  hesitated  and  let  him  to  his  feet. 

"But  we  want  to  do  something  for  you,"  in 
sisted  Judge  Woodbridge.  "And  besides,  we 
didn't  do  anything  for  you  when  you  saved 
Miss  Mendenhall." 

Mary  dropped  her  eyes  at  remembrance  that 
she,  too,  had  not  shown  herself  grateful. 


JUST  LIKE  HIM  3-51 

"Well,  I  tell  you,"  said  Clem,  resting  his 
hand  tenderly  on  the  judge's  wide  shoulders, 
"I'm  not  deserving,  but  if  you  want  to  give 
me  a  uniform  for  the  fire  department  I'd  be 
mighty  glad  to  have  it." 

The  judge  reached  up  and  patted  the  hand 
with  his  own  thick  one.  "Bless  his  heart,  we'll 
get  him  half  a  dozen  suits  and  a  fire-engine. 
A  town  with  two  railroads  needs  a  fire-engine, 
doesn't  it,  boys?" 

The  shout  of  approval  left  no  doubt. 

At  last  the  reception  broke  up,  and  out  on 
the  curb  Clem  waited  for  Hulda.  But  when 
she  came  she  was  not  alone.  At  her  side  was  a 
stout  protecting  figure — Judge  Woodbridge. 
Hulda  was  looking  up  into  the  judge's  face 
while  he  kept  a  careful  hand  under  her  elbow. 

"Gee,  how  times  change !"  mumbled  Clem. 

He  fell  into  step  with  them. 

"Yes,"  said  Hulda,  answering  his  question 
ing  look,  "you  have  surprised  us,  and  I  guess 
we  have  you." 


352  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

"Yes,  indeed,  Hulda,"  said  Judge  Wood- 
bridge,  although  the  remark  in  no  way  fitted 
in.  But  perhaps  it  was  as  good  as  any. 

There  was  a  happier  look  on  Hulda's  face 
than  Clem  had  seen  there  in  years.  Hulda 
patted  the  judge's  arm  in  the  easy  familiar 
way  women  have  always  used  to  express  their 
happiness.  Clem  could  not  help  seeing  that 
with  all  her  splendid  qualities,  and  her  spotless 
home  keeping  that  there  was  something  vital 
lacking  in  her  life.  She  was  now  patting  it  on 
the  arm,  and  at  the  sight  Clem  rejoiced  un 
til  he  saw  Brassy  and  Mary  standing  at  the 
corner.  His  home-coming  was  bitter  after  all. 

Clem  was  on  the  point  of  turning  down  a 
side  street,  that  Hulda  and  the  judge  might  be 
undisturbed  in  their  happiness,  when  Brassy 
reached  out  and  fastened  on  his  coat. 

"Say,  Mr.  Pointer,"  called  out  Brassy,  "I've 
got  somethin'  to  ask  you — some  sweetly  flow- 
in'  syllables  to  pour  into  your  ear.  Do  you 
think  that  a  man  used  to  luxury  the  way  I  am, 
and  sleepin'  in  the  best  hotels  and  on  beds  of 


JUST  LIKE  HIM1  353 

downy  whiteness  would  be  runnin'  any  great 
risk  to  put  up  in  the  New  Palace?" 

"If  they  hear  you  speakin'  that  way  about 
our  best-known  hotel  you'd  be  about  as  popu 
lar  as  Doctor  Fordyce,"  answered  Clem,  al 
though  there  was  no  merriment  in  his  soul. 
"But  don't  bother  about  the  hotel,  you  come 
right  out  to  our  house  for  the  night." 

Brassy  clasped  his  hand  and  turned  to  Mary. 
"Mary,  I  want  to  introduce  to  you  the  finest 
man  ever  made  on  this  little  footstool.  When 
they  made  him  they  broke  the  mold  so  that 
there's  not  another  one  like  him  in  the  world. 
Mary,  my  daughter,  this  is  Mr.  Pointer." 

Mary  acknowledged  the  introduction  grave 
ly,  suppressing  her  desire  to  throw  aside  all 
reserve. 

"This  is  a  pleasure,  Miss  Hagan,"  said  Clem, 
then  added,  "on  my  part." 

They  stood  awkwardly  a  moment,  while 
Brassy  stepped  over  to  speak  to  Hulda  and 
the  judge. 

Just  the  sight  of  Clem  brought  up  Mary's 


354  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

pulse.  A  few  hours  before  she  had  thought 
that  he  had  passed  out  of  her  life  forever. 
Now  the  familiar  square  face  with  its  myriads 
of  lines  running  into  the  corners  of  his  eyes 
brought  a  new  feeling  over  her.  She  thought 
of  the  many  things  the  people  of  Curryville  had 
said  about  him  after  his  disappearance.  He 
had  stolen  into  their  hearts  more  than  they 
had  realized.  Once  Mrs.  Kiggins,  when  she 
wasn't  telling  about  her  remarkable  psychic 
powers,  had  said  that  he  could  be  of  more  com 
fort  than  anybody  in  the  world  when  a  person 
had  the  toothache.  And  one  time  Marshal 
Jupes  had  said  that  there  was  some  comfort 
even  in  Clem's  beating  a  person  at  checkers — 
he  never  crowed  about  it  afterward.  Slowly 
all  this  dawned  on  her,  and  though  her  heart 
tingled  at  Clem's  presence  she  still  hesitated — 
a  feminine  something  still  held  her  back.  As 
she  looked  at  him  she  could  not  help  remem 
bering  how  he  had  carried  her  out  of  the  flam 
ing  house  in  his  arms,  saving  her  life,  and  how 
she  had  never  thanked  him.  She  wished  to  tell 
him  this,  but  still  something  kept  her  quiet. 


JUST  LIKE  HIM  355 

Clem  looked  at  her  soberly  a  moment. 
"Have  they  had  any  good  fires  since  I  been 
away  ?" 

Mary  laughed  and  the  feminine  something 
was  wiped  away. 

"No,  we  haven't  had  anything  good  since 
you  went  away." 

They  started  down  the  street  together. 

"I  ran  away  to  enjoy  myself,"  said  Clem, 
"and  nearly  every  hour  of  it  has  been  misery. 
I  am  so  glad  to  get  back  that  I  don't  know  what 
to  do.  It  sounds  good  even  to  hear  Mrs.  Kig- 
gins  tellin'  about  her  psychic  vision.  You 
couldn't  run  me  out  of  Curryville  now  with  a 
prod.  But  an  hour  ago  I  didn't  think  that  way. 
An  hour  ago  I  was  sorry  that  I  had  come  back. 
Can  you  guess  why?" 

Mary  knew  that  he  meant  the  way  she  had 
turned  aside  at  the  hall.  "Yes,"  she  whis 
pered,  "I  think  I  can.  I  don't  know  how  it  is 
that  people  have  that  stubborn  thing  in  them 
that  makes  them  fight  back  when  they  know 
that  they  are  wrong.  Tell  ma  about  every 
thing." 


356  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

"Well,  I  left,  and  the  rest  of  the  time  I  have 
been  trying  to  get  back.  But  that  ain't  what 
I  want  to  talk  about.  Did  you  really  miss  me, 
Mary?" 

Mary  reached  over  for  answer  and  did  what 
women  have  done  for  so  many  ages:  she 
patted  him  on  the  arm.  And  he  understood,  as 
men  have  for  so  many  ages. 

Before  they  knew  it  they  were  at  her  house 
and  had  turned  in  and  seated  themselves  on  the 
porch.  They  sat  in  silence  for  a  few  minutes, 
then  Clem  leaned  toward  her,  and  as  the  light 
from  the  window  cut  across  his  face  Mary 
could  read  a  new  expression  in  the  lines.  Sud 
denly  Clem  spoke,  so  suddenly  as  to  startle  her. 

"I  am  a  fool.  That's  what  I  am — a  plain 
unvarnished  fool.  Nobody  but  a  fool  like  me 
would  have  run  away  from  Curryville  trying 
to  find  happiness.  I  learned  a  lot  of  things — 
I  found  out  that  a  fellow  can't  go  out  and  hunt 
for  happiness.  When  he  swabs  out  his  gun  and 
goes  out  he  won't  ever  get  a  shot  at  it ;  but  if  he 
will  hang  his  gun  over  the  door  and  be  patient 


JUST  LIKE  HIM  357 

happiness  will  come  and  settle  down  on  his 
gate-post. 

"I  was  a  fool  for  running  away,  and  I  sup 
pose  I  will  be  a  bigger  one  in  another  minute. 
I  am  going  to  tell  you  something  that  will  sur 
prise  you.  This  is  it:  I  love  you!" 

Mary  looked  properly  surprised. 

"From  the  day  I  showed  you  through  the 
fire  house  I  have  loved  you."  At  mention  of 
the  fire  house  Clem  straightened  up  with  pride. 
"But  you  seemed  so  far  away  that  I  did  not 
dare  hope  for  anything  better  than  just  a  smile 
now  and  then.  I  ain't  much  on  education — I 
ain't  goin'  to  say  that  I  never  had  a  chance,  be 
cause  that's  no  excuse  for  a  man  to  make — but 
I  am  studying  and  trying  to  be  somebody.  It's 
mighty  hard  trying  to  be  somebody  alone.  If 
I  just  had  some  one  to  help  me — if  I  just  had 
you  to  help  me  I  could  be  another  man — some 
time.  Now  I  am  going  to  say  something  else 
that  may  make  me  a  bigger  fool  than  ever.  It 
is  this:  Mary,  I  love  you,  and  I  want  you  to 
marry  me !" 


358  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

Mary's  mind  went  tumbling  off  into  space. 
She  wanted  to  give  herself  to  him  at  once;  to 
say,  "I  am  here — take  me.  I  am  yours."  But 
instead,  out  crept  a  hand  that  glided  into  his. 
That  was  her  answer.  That  was  all  that  was 
needed.  Not  a  word  was  spoken. 

Just  then  two  figures  appeared  on  the  lawn. 
One  was  stout  and  swung  along  with  joyful 
abandon;  the  other  was  slim  and  came  noise 
lessly — as  befits  detectives.  The  stout  one  was 
Brassy. 

As  the  steps  of  Brassy  and  Rencie  crunched 
on  the  lawn  there  was  a  stir  on  the  porch,  and 
when  the  two  came  up  Clem's  flushed  face  was 
in  shadow,  while  Mary  sat  at  the  other  end  of 
the  bench  demurely  fingering  the  end  of  a  rib 
bon.  But  her  father's  eye  had  not  been  de 
ceived. 

"Jumping  crickets,  but  I  never  saw  two  peo 
ple  get  acquainted  the  way  you  two  have," 
breezed  Brassy.  "I  won't  bother  you,  don't 
worry. 

"Mary,  my  girl,  do  you  know  I  am  real 
dippy  about  Curryville?  One  thing,  it's  got 


JUST  LIKE  HIM  359 

Clem,  and  another  thing  it  won't  have  Fordyce 
much  longer.  Don't  you  think  your  mother 
would  like  to  live  here — in  a  little  vine-cov 
ered  cottage  with  a  cat  sleepin'  in  the  sun  on 
the  front  porch?" 

"She  would  love  it!"  exclaimed  Mary,  and 
the  three  drew  together  to  make  plans.  But 
Brassy  had  feeling  enough  not  to  stay  long. 

In  a  few  minutes  after  Brassy  left  Clem  got 
ready  to  start  home.  That  is,  it  seemed  like  a 
few  minutes.  Before  he  got  up  to  his  own 
house  he  realized  how  late  it  was  and  he  ap 
proached  in  fear  and  trembling,  for  he  knew 
Hulda  of  old. 

At  the  door  Clem  paused  in  surprise,  for 
Judge  Woodbridge  was  just  leaving. 

Hulda  was  smiles  all  over. 

"Come  over  and  set  down,"  said  she  after 
the  door  had  closed  on  the  judge,  "and  let's 
have  a  good  talk.  I  feel  barrels  of  it  coming." 

She  drew  Clem's  rocker  up  to  his  side  of 
the  table  and  freshened  the  cushion  with  a 
shake.  Then  she  leaned  back  in  her  own  chair 
and  folded  her  hands  across  her  waist. 


360  WHEN  TO  LOCK  THE  STABLE 

Clem  placed  the  lamp  squarely  over  the  yel 
low  crack  and  sank  back  in  peace  and  content 
ment.  "By  jooks! — there  I'm  saying  it,  too — 
but  anyway  I'm  mighty  glad  to  get  home.  You 
couldn't  get  me  away  again  if  you  tied  my 
feet." 

Hulda's  hand  crept  up  to  the  yellow  crack, 
and  Clem's  slipped  across  to  meet  it. 

"I'm  not  a  fit  sister  for  you  to  come  back 
to,  but  I'm  going  to  be.  And  I'm  not  going  to 
be  so  picayunish  and  faultfinding  any  more 
and  I'm  not  going  to  wait  till  you're  dead  to 
let  you  know  that  I  love  you,  either.  This 
thing  of  waiting  till  the  horse  is  stolen  to — " 

A  step  sounded  on  the  porch  and  knuckles 
rattled  at  the  door. 

"You  answer  it,  Hulda,"  said  Clem,  having 
an  idea  who  was  coming. 

Hulda  gave  her  skirt  a  straightening  shake 
and  opened  the  door. 

It  was  Rick  Oody  with  one  shoulder  sagging 
down.  "It's  a  present  for  you,  Miss  Pointer," 
he  said,  and  backed  off  the  porch. 

"Land  sakes  alive,  what  can  it  be?     And 


JUST  LIKE  HIM  361 

who'd  be  givin'  me  a  present  this  time  of 
night?" 

Eagerly  she  pulled  off  the  wrapper  revealing 
a  cannel-coal  smoothing  iron. 

"Clem  Pointer,  ain't  that  just  like  you !"  she 
exclaimed,  turning  her  head  away  and  raising 
the  hem  of  her  dress  to  her  eyes.  "You  just 
shut  your  eyes!" 

Clem  closed  his  eyes,  Hulda  tiptoed  around 
the  table  and  bent  over  him. 

"Now,"  she  said,  "you  take  this  in  the 
kitchen  so  I  won't  look  at  it  any  more  till  morn 
ing.  If  I  was  any  happier  I'd — "  but  she  could 
say  no  more. 

Clem  rose  and  started  for  the  kitchen.  At 
the  door  he  stumbled  and  gasped  in  astonish 
ment.  With  a  shrill  cry  of  delight  Garibaldi 
had  leaped  on  his  shoulder. 


THE  END 


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